


The Shattering of Altea

by YouAreInAComaWakeUp (Nikanaiko)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Advanced AI, Angst, Aquaphobia, Aromantic Asexual Pidge | Katie Holt, Character Death, Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Galra Empire, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, M/M, MMORPGs, Minor Allura/Shiro (Voltron), Minor Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Minor Matt Holt/Shiro, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Slow Burn, Suicide, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2018-11-16 17:32:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 37
Words: 244,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11257599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikanaiko/pseuds/YouAreInAComaWakeUp
Summary: Altea is a world of dragons, magic, and, until recently, war.It's also entirely fictional.When Lance put on his VR headset, he fully expected everything he experienced from that point on to be false.But his feelings for the kill-stealing jerk in red armor couldn't be more real.





	1. Speedrun

The corridors twisted and turned in countless directions. They were dark, lit only by the torches on the walls, and marked from one another by little more than a few decorative tapestries, but Keith knew exactly where he was going. This was far from his first invasion, and with the way things had been going, he doubted it would be his last.

His familiarity with the castle was a damn good thing, too, because there was no time to get lost, not with so many castle guards hot on his tail.

Every time Keith passed a corridor entrance, another two joined the horde he had accumulated, but they were all slow. Far too slow to catch up, and far too clumsy to not be further slowed by the same damn thing every single time.

Without even the slightest drag of his feet, Keith slipped his knife off of his belt and pressed it flat against the wall, sliding it against the paneling as he ran. The tip of his knife slipped behind a gold dragon and hit a switch he must have hit twenty times before.

Hitting the switch activated a mechanism that ran beneath the floor of the corridor that caused a trap door to slide open at the end of the hallway. Keith didn’t need to look back at his pursuers to know how far back they were when he jumped into the passageway anymore. It was all exactly the same every single time, like a well-rehearsed dance. Keith knew where all of the performers stood, how quickly they moved, whether or not they were even looking at him. There was no point in checking while he stowed his knife back into its place on his belt. He saw it all in his mind’s eye. There was no need to spare an instant of concentration before he dove into the chute.

The guards would still follow him, but the chute wasn’t wide enough to permit more than one of them at a time, and by the time they caught up, Keith would be in the throne room.

He’d tried fighting them last time, tried taking them on once he’d narrowed them down to a steady trickle of opponents rather than the mob they had been, but they wore down his stamina and Keith had gotten a reality check, a lesson that he couldn’t help but learn. The only way to survive was to run.

And he needed to survive if he wanted to make it to the throne room.

Unfortunately, there was one thing Keith could never plan for, one dancer who didn’t stick to the choreography.

And that was the man, the Galra, who was waiting for Keith at the bottom of the chute.

As soon as Keith’s arms were freed from the narrow shaft, he immediately reached for the Moon Blade at his belt and unsheathed it.

He just had to beat him down once. Just once. And then he could set the whole damn place on fire and it would all be over with.

Keith aimed his sword directly for the top of the Galra’s head, counting on his weight to push the blade through bone.

The attempt, as always, was unsuccessful. The Galra sidestepped out of the way and elbowed Keith in the back, sending him skidding along the floor of the corridor. It was enough to hurt, enough to make Keith double over, but not enough to unbalance him. He had too much fight left in him.

“When will you learn your lesson, Paladin?” growled the Galra in his warning, bass tones. “You have no place here.”

Keith’s brow twitched as he stood up straight, gripping his sword tight in one hand. “You’re the one who has no place here, Zarkon.”

“Am I?” Zarkon’s expression remained neutral, unimpressed. “Then why is it that I am the one permitted to stay while you’ve been evading Shirogane’s sight for fear of being destroyed?”

Keith spared no time in coming up with an answer. He charged, allowing his sword to answer for him.

Zarkon didn’t need to so much as draw his weapon.

The battle was over as soon as it began.

Keith writhed in Zarkon’s grip, eyes pressed shut, desperately gasping for air that never came. He flipped the sword in his hand to stab into Zarkon’s arm in a delirious attempt to free himself, only serving to knock his own sword out of his hand when it bounced off of Zarkon’s armor.

“Every time you come here, I repeat the same words,” droned Zarkon. “And every time, you ignore my warning.”

Keith clawed at Zarkon, as if his fingernails alone could succeed where his sword had failed.

“Keep your feeble mind away from my kingdom,” said Zarkon, tightening his grip around Keith’s throat so roughly that Keith’s ears began to ring, “before you learn just how easy it is to crush something so brittle.”

The ringing grew louder and louder with the tighter Zarkon’s grip grew around Keith’s neck, like an incoming stampede Keith’s brain refused to process, and then, all at once, there was nothing.

Keith opened his eyes.

His ceiling.

Same as always.

Keith didn’t even need to look at his inventory to know it was empty, each and every one of his items lost to Castle Daibazaal. All but his soul-bonded knife.

He groaned and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Fuck…”

 

* * *

 

“Lance, I… I don’t know about this,” said Hunk, picking at his clothes. “I mean, I… I didn’t even know Matt. It doesn’t feel like I should be here. Should I wait in the car? I think I should wait in the car.”

“Relax, Hunk,” said Lance, patting his friend’s shoulder in a way that came off as closer to a slap. “I didn’t really know Matt, either. And we’re not really here for him, anyway. We’re here for Pidge.”

“Yeah,” said Hunk tenuously, “but at least _you_ actually _met_ Matt. I don’t even know for sure if his name is short for Matthew or if his parents were weird and just named him Matt. Like, Matt Holt, that’s his whole name. Are there even two Ts or did his parents name him ‘Mat’ like ‘yoga mat’?”

“Hunk?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Could you, like, chill? For five seconds?”

“Oh, thanks, Lance. _That’s_ helpful. All my anxiety is just gone. Out the window. Poof.”

Lance rolled his eyes and ran a jittery hand through his short hair, keeping his eyes narrowed on the road. According to Pidge’s directions, they’d almost reached the cemetery, which was strange to think about, considering they were in the middle of a forest. Lance had never seen a cemetery in a forest. Any funeral he’d ever been to had always taken place in a wide-open lot, someplace that didn’t obscure his view of the sky.

But when Lance reached the point Pidge had marked, he looked through the window. He took in the mourners and how they were arranged, and he took in the vegetation, and he understood.

The cemetery wasn’t in the forest.

It _was_ the forest.

And, judging by the way he grabbed Lance’s shoulder and leaned across him, Hunk seemed to understand at the same time that Lance did.

“Is that— No way. Is that seed-shaped thing attached to that seedling him? Are they planting _Matt_?”

“Looks like it,” said Lance, cutting off the ignition and reaching for his seatbelt.

“So are _all_ the trees in this forest—?”

“Probably.”

“No.” Hunk shook Lance’s shoulder. “No, no, no— Lance, that’s how you get _haunted forests_. We’re in a _haunted forest_ right now.”

Lance very carefully plucked Hunk’s hand off of his shoulder and patted his knuckles. “You’ll be okay, Buddy. I don’t think anyone would want to attack you, living or dead.”

“What if there are really angry people buried here, Lance?” hissed Hunk, whisper-screaming. “What if they don’t care who they’re attacking? What if they’re just out for blood? I don’t want to be strangled by a murder vine!”

Lance took a deep breath, buying time for something soothing to pop into his head, but, thankfully, before he had to find something to articulate, a knock came at his window.

When he turned around, he saw Pidge through the glass, smiling weakly. They looked...small. Almost demure. Definitely weird for someone like Pidge.

That tiny smile said more about how Matt’s death had affected them than tears ever could.

Lance unlatched his door and pushed it open hesitantly. “Hey—”

Before he could get more than a word out, Pidge jumped in and hugged Lance with all the force of their tiny arms.

Lance sighed and wrapped his arms tight around Pidge’s tiny back, letting both of their formal outfits wrinkle without a second thought.

There was a squeak, and Hunk’s wide arms pulled them both back against his chest, having apparently pushed the center console up and out of the way. It seemed that all it took for Hunk to push his anxieties aside was to see how much Pidge needed them both.

“How you feeling, Pidgey?” asked Hunk, his voice warm and quiet.

“Well,” said Pidge, muffled by Lance’s chest, “I’d be lying if I said ‘great’. But I’m better now that you guys are here.”

They squirmed a little, making Lance release his grip and Hunk soon after, and they leaned back, nearly falling out of the car.

“Come on,” they said, taking Lance’s and Hunk’s hands in their own and tugging. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

That “someone,” as it turned out, was standing by himself, away from the rest of the mourners.

He ran his fingers down the side of a maple tree, intently focused, watching them rise and fall with every jagged edge of the bark.

“Hey, Shiro,” called Pidge in a sotto voice.

Shiro didn’t acknowledge Pidge at first. He just kept looking at the tree.

Lance looked at Hunk through the corner of his eye.

Hunk looked back at him, just as distressed, and shrugged.

 _Okay, good,_ thought Lance, looking back at Pidge. _Nice to know everyone’s uncomfortable, not just me. Great._

“A star pine isn’t going to survive in this climate,” said the man at the tree, not turning around. “It’s too cold.”

“Then we’ll just have to take care of it,” said Pidge. “I’m sure I can think of something that won’t disturb the rest of the trees. Even if I have to build some kind of a greenhouse for it.” They put their hands on their hips. “And if I can’t do it on my own, I bet Hunk could help me.”

“Me?!”

At Hunk’s surprised outburst, the man at the tree finally reacted. He lifted his head, and slowly, he turned around, revealing a long scar across the bridge of his nose, a long tuft of white hair, and a prosthetic arm Lance hadn’t noticed before.

But more prominent than either of those was the deep, aching melancholy in the man’s eyes. A sadness so stirring that Lance felt his heart break just upon seeing this complete stranger’s face.

Lance didn’t have to know him to know how hard he was taking Matt’s passing.

“Shiro,” Pidge announced, gesturing in Lance and Hunk’s direction, “these are my friends. The ones I told you about. The ones who might be interested in playtesting SoA.”

“Lance and Hunk, right?” Shiro offered his hand. The clearly-man-made one. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Lance eyed the metallic hand, hesitating for only a second, before grasping it in his own and shaking it firmly.

Only once Lance had reciprocated the handshake did it finally click whose hand he was shaking.

“Wait, Shiro…” His eyes widened. “Shiro as in...Takashi Shirogane? As in… You were Matt’s—”

“Yeah,” said Shiro, stiffly pulling his hand back. “His partner. I’m sorry you’ll never get to play Shattering.”

“Wait, never get to play it?” Hunk cocked an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Shiro shook his head. “I can’t finish it without him. The programming was too complicated. Most of my job was just design. He was the one in charge of actually bringing it all to life.”

“Come on, Shiro,” sighed Pidge. “You know I’d help you program it if you bothered to ask.”

“It’s more complicated than that, Pidge,” said Shiro, raising his voice.

“Like how?” snapped Pidge, making Lance’s hair stand on end. Things had just gotten a little more heated than he was prepared for, and if _he_ was nervous, he could only imagine how _Hunk_ felt. “Whatever _innovative thing_ my brother did with the coding, I’m sure I can figure it out. I’m just as smart as he is, if not smarter.”

“I know you are, Pidge,” said Shiro, his voice stern, an immovable force. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?!” demanded Pidge, stomping the twigs beneath their feet into the dirt. “What, are you just too sad to touch it without him? He’d want it finished, Shiro! Why can’t you just do that for him?!”

“Why does it matter what he would want?” growled Shiro, turning back to the tree and bracing his forearm against it. “He’s gone. He can’t want anything anymore.”

Pidge inhaled a sharp, deep breath, and Lance was positive they were going to scream. But they didn’t. Instead, they just let the breath go and dropped their tense shoulders.

“I know you’ve lost more than one person this year,” they said, quieter, calmer than they had been before. “And I know that has to suck, and I get that you’re probably feeling really lonely right now. But you’re not alone.” They took another deep breath. “The best thing you could do to honor Matt’s memory is to finish the game. You and I both know he’d want that. Not just for him, but for you. I know it mattered to you, too, Shiro, and he wouldn’t want you to give it up just because you guys couldn’t finish it together. He’d want you to make it work somehow.”

Shiro didn’t answer.

Pidge took a step back, fallen leaves crunching beneath their shoe. “Whatever you need me for, whether it’s to talk about my brother or something to do with your arm or if you change your mind and decide you do want to work on the game...you know how to get ahold of me.”

They took another step back and turned their back on Shiro. Even with their head bowed, their glare fixed to the ground, Lance could still see the red in their eyes. It took everything Lance had not to run up to Pidge and wrap them in another hug.

“Come on, guys,” they muttered, their voice cracking. “The funeral’s gonna start any minute. If Shiro wants to stick around and mope, that’s his problem. Not ours.”

Lance stole a glance at Hunk, who looked back at him, face pale and eyes wide.

Maybe they _should_ have stayed in the car.

 

* * *

 

Shiro pulled the collar of his jacket higher around his face, trying to shield himself from the cool ocean breeze. The wind tugged at the loose ends of his coat as if trying to pull Shiro out into the cold, unforgiving sea. Seagulls flew across the gray, overcast sky, calling out to one another, ignorant of the storm that brewed in a single man’s head on the dusty sands below.

The long tuft of white hair danced just above Shiro’s gaze as he took a long, deep breath, so deep that it seemed to crack his lungs like dry clay.

He closed his eyes, hoping to feel something, anything, a warmth, a sign.

But there was nothing. Just Shiro and the sand and the waves and the cold, cold wind.

“I guess if I want to talk to you, I’ll have to be the one to break the ice, huh?”

The cold wind was not an answer, and Shiro knew it, but still, he turned his back to the sea and left a trail of deep footprints from the edge of the water all the way to his car.

He walked up the stairs to his apartment, the apartment he once shared with Matt, his feet colliding with the metal steps loud enough to echo. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. He was on his way to break his own heart, and he knew that, but he felt hypnotized. Like there was no point in even trying to stop himself.

He unlocked his door and stepped inside, deadbolting the door behind himself. He shed his jacket from his shoulders and dropped it onto the floor as if ridding himself of an old layer of skin. He set a kettle on the stove. He rolled up his sleeves. He took a deep breath.

And he got to work.

He pulled cardboard boxes off of the top shelves of his closet, he got on his hands and knees to plug every computer and monitor back into place behind the barren desks in the living room. Power buttons were pushed. Programs were booted up. Commands were typed out. Tea was poured.

By the time Shiro was ready, he was coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

But that didn’t keep him from reaching for his headset.

He took another deep breath.

It wasn’t real. He knew that.

But it was still something.

And Pidge was right; he couldn’t put it off forever.

He pulled his headset over his head. The sensors identified him.

And he wasn’t in his living room anymore.

 

* * *

 

．．．ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｎｇ．．．

Ｕｓｅｒｎａｍｅ： ＡｄｍｉｎＳｈｉｒｏ

Ｐａｓｓｗｏｒｄ： ＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

．．．ｅｎｔｅｒｉｎｇ Ａｌｔｅａ．．．

Ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ ｔｏ Ａｌｔｅａ

 

* * *

 

The grove opened around Shiro like a blossoming flower, blooming into unfinished trees and grass that didn’t move with the wind and a night sky that didn’t look quite right. The ruins were too smooth, the broken bricks too clean, and the statues too immaculate.

But the most unnatural part of it all was the lithe, pale young man snoozing against a statue, his hand loosely wrapped around the staff he’d planted upright in the dirt, his glasses askew.

Shiro willed his hands to stop shaking.

He couldn’t turn back, not after he’d already logged on, after he’d taken that first big step.

And if he was going to finish the game, he’d need the help of the person who came up with the idea in the first place.

Even if it was just a copy.

 

* * *

 

Lance’s phone vibrated against the tabletop and he looked over his steak sandwich to the short stack of phones in the center of the table.

Then to the man across the table.

“Nope,” said Hunk, looking back down at his plate with an air of disapproval. “Dinner is food time. Not potential-girlfriend time.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “Psh. I haven’t even met anyone recently. It’s probably my mom or something.”

“Well,” said Hunk, sounding not unlike a disappointed mother himself, “your mom can wait.”

Lance narrowed his eyes further, to the point that they were mere slits. “How dare you.” Without giving Hunk time to react, he snatched his phone from the center of the table with all the swiftness and accuracy of a cat’s paw.

“Lance!” exclaimed Hunk, outraged and personally offended.

“Good news, it’s not my mom.”

“So put it back!”

“But it _is_ Shiro.”

“Shiro?” Hunk’s anger melted away like butter. “Like the guy who was a total jerk to Pidge at their brother’s funeral a few months ago?”

“Mmhmm,” intoned Lance, frowning at his phone. According to Pidge, Shiro had apologized, but Lance still wasn’t entirely sure what to think of him. “He’s asking if we’re still interested in playtesting.”

“Depends on what Pidge thinks.”

“Apparently, Pidge already agreed.”

Lance and Hunk exchanged expressions over the dinner table, both frowning.

“...I’m in,” said Hunk. “I want to see what ‘Earth-shattering technology’ Matt came up with.”

“All right,” said Lance, hitting the light blue reply button with his thumb. “Guess that counts for both of us, then.”

 

* * *

 

If there was one thing Shiro would remember about that night, it would have been the moonlight.

Lighting effects were one of the last things they worked on. It was purely aesthetic, so it wasn’t really necessary to focus on until the last minute. But Shiro was proud of his work. It made the whole game feel so much more _real_. Matt did say that a little bit of lighting could go a long, long way when it came to suspended disbelief.

“It looks nice,” said Matt, folding his arms over his knees, his staff tucked loosely between his forearms. “I told you you could do it.”

“Yeah, well…” Shiro leaned back on his hands and looked up at the recently-perfected sky. “You would have done a better job.”

“Guess we’ll never know,” said Matt. “You got it pretty perfect, though. Look at the way it hits the leaves. It makes the whole grove look magical.”

Shiro _was_ looking. The silver glow seemed to ripple from each leaf to the one beneath it, pouring like some sort of otherworldly waterfall.

It was beautiful. It really was. But it wasn’t enough to take Shiro’s mind off of his worries.

“You know…” Shiro tilted his head back and squinted at the moon itself, like it could save him from the words he was about to say. “Testing begins tomorrow.”

“Already, huh?” asked Matt. “Man, time flies.”

“Are you ready?” asked Shiro, lifting his eyebrows and finally turning away from the moon.

Matt didn’t look at him. “I was born ready,” he said, still smiling at the sky. “Literally. It’s kind of what I was made for.”

“...Guess it was,” sighed Shiro.

Matt turned toward him, still smiling. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, so I just want to remind you—”

“I know.” Shiro’s smile was hesitant, uncertain. He still didn’t agree with Matt’s decision, but it wasn’t his choice to make. “Don’t tell Pidge you’re here.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's an MMO story. It's abbreviated as SoA. That's really unfortunate. But I hope that doesn't deter people. -laughs-  
> Fair warning, while Shiro/Matt isn't the main ship, there's a lot of it here. The only reasons I kept Shiro/Matt as a minor ship instead of a major one are that I didn't want to clog up the tag for people who are looking for Shiro/Matt as a primary ship and that it won't be endgame. The reasons for the latter should be...pretty obvious right away, hahah. Just thought I'd let you know...it's discussed a lot in flashbacks.


	2. Tutorial

．．．ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｎｇ．．．

Ｕｓｅｒｎａｍｅ： ＴｈｅＴａｉｌｏｒ

Ｐａｓｓｗｏｒｄ： ＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

．．．ｅｎｔｅｒｉｎｇ Ａｌｔｅａ．．．

Ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ ｔｏ Ａｌｔｅａ

 

* * *

 

The world unfolded like dismantled origami, like someone had taken a paper flower and tugged on the corners until it made up the ceiling of a very old-fashioned-looking room.

Lance sat up slowly, inspecting his surroundings with an inquisitive eye.

He wasn’t sure who had designed the assets, Shiro or Matt, but whoever had done it had done a good job. Lance couldn’t remember the last time he’d played a game that was so realistic. He could see dust particles in the light from the window, the faintest tarnish on the handles of the wardrobe, and every stitch of the quilt that fell to his lap when he sat up.

Even his own character. His hands looked like his own hands in the real world, down to the white scars on the back of his hands from playing with his mom’s feisty cat as a child. If Lance didn’t know better, he would have thought he’d simply stumbled into another world rather than put on a VolTech headset.

He pushed the quilt off of himself and looked down at the rest of his model. Aside from the simple, white undergarment, he couldn’t find a single thing about himself that was unfamiliar.

When Shiro said Matt’s add-on was impressive, he wasn’t kidding. Lance couldn’t believe he was still just using a normal headset and not some kind of sci-fi pod that scanned him from top to bottom.

Just as Lance’s mind began to move from astonishment to skeptical curiosity, the door of the room he was in opened, and in walked a man with fiery hair, the most brilliant mustache Lance had ever seen, and a bowl of unknown contents balanced on a tray.

“Oh, good!” said the man brightly. “You’re awake! I was starting to wonder if you’d ever come to. You’ve been out longer than an Úlfurkaní after a failed materace.”

Lance let his legs hang over the edge of his bed, a great deal less than impressed. Everything about this guy screamed _tutorial_ , and Lance wasn’t looking forward to it. Was it so much to ask to be able to just start a game without someone telling him how to tie his own shoes?

“You seem pretty confused,” said the man, lowering the tray onto Lance’s lap and confirming Lance’s suspicions without leaving any room for speculation. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you lost all your memories after what you’ve been through, so I’ll just go on and—”

“Haaarrrghhh…” Lance flopped back onto the bed, arms outstretched on either side of his body, aggravated eyes pointed to the ceiling.

“Well, all right,” grumbled the tutorial man. “If you wanted the abridged version, all you had to do was say so. You didn’t have to be so rude about it.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Lance pushed himself up to his elbows. “You… Huh?”

“What, is it so shocking that someone would be offended by such a display?” asked the man, crossing his arms and turning away. “Because I think it’s a perfectly acceptable response.”

“I’m...sorry?” said Lance uncertainly, pushing himself upright. “I didn’t think you’d be able to understand—”

“Understand what?” asked the man, pouting so dramatically that his entire mustache changed shape. “That my services weren’t necessary? That you have better things to do? Well, by all means, don’t let me stop you.”

“Okay.” Lance put his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I can see we got off to the wrong foot. I didn’t mean to upset anyone. I seriously thought you’d just go on talking no matter what I did.”

The man sighed and shrugged, his arms still crossed. “Well, I suppose it is a bit out of the ordinary for an NPC to catch something like that.”

“So you…” Lance leaned forward, brow furrowed, his arms crossing over his tray. “You know you’re an NPC?”

Coran leaned forward as well, uncrossing his arms and reaching for the chair that had been pushed into a writing desk by the bed. “Yes, I do,” he explained, much calmer now. “We all do, though I’m one of very few allowed to break character outside of an emergency. You would have learned that if you bothered to listen.”

Lance’s eyes widened, and he scooted back, still balancing the tray on his legs. He knew that genius ran in Pidge’s family, but it was one thing to know Matt had been brilliant and something else entirely to see that he’d created something that was self-aware.

And then put that self-aware consciousness in a video game of all places.

Unsure of how else to respond, Lance offered one of his hands over his tray. “I’m Lance.”

“Coran,” said the man seated across from him, taking the hand and shaking it warmly. “Welcome to my inn. Now, are you willing to listen to a brief history of Altea?”

 

* * *

 

Altea, as it turned out, was not the kingdom Lance had woken up in. No, that was Arus, a social country known mostly for its history and culture. Altea, as it happened, wasn't even a kingdom at all. Altea was actually the continent. It carried Arus, along with three other kingdoms and a few stretches of unclaimed neutral ground that ran between borders. After a particularly rough war, three of the four countries had apparently agreed to set up defenses to keep the fourth country, the start of the entire mess, out. Only a few were permitted past the boundaries each kingdom had set.

On one hand, Lance found the history cool, and he was already excited to start looking for an escape before he’d even seen the defenses Arus had to offer.

On another hand, he could already tell what it meant for him, Hunk, and Pidge.

If Hunk and Pidge hadn’t spawned in the same place Lance had, that meant they were probably in another country.

Which made sense. Shiro did want them to test the game, so he would have spread them across the world.

But it was also bound to be a bit lonely. Lance could tell that much already.

But at least he had Coran. Coran was cool.

“What do you think about this, eh?” said Coran, offering an item from the wardrobe that swept the floor. “Quite becoming of a mage in the making, don’t you think?”

Lance cocked an eyebrow and leaned back, making a wavy so-so motion with his hand. “Look, I know I’m a newbie, but don’t you have anything that’s a _little_ more my speed?”

“And what speed would that be?” asked Coran, an amused smirk barely visible under his mustache.

“You know,” said Lance, shifting his weight to his arm. “Something that doesn’t hide ninety-five percent of my body away from the ladies.”

Coran rested a hand on his hip. “Oh, ah, a bit of a _ladies’ man_ , are you?”

“Ladies,” said Lance, adopting a smirk of his own. “Men. Whatever fits the bill. As long as they’re cute. And I’m not gonna be winning anyone over in a wool nightgown.”

“Fair point,” said Coran, hanging the robe up in the wardrobe. “Though you won’t find many ladies or men in Arus at this stage in development, I’m afraid. Outside of us non-player types, that is.” Hangers slid back and forth audibly on the rack as Coran thumbed through the rest of the wardrobe’s contents. “Still, I do see your point, and while you’re not going to be able to find many helpful options outside of ‘wool nightgowns’ when you reach higher levels, I don’t think it would hurt for your first outfit to be something a little more becoming of a thief than a mage.”

He plucked another outfit out of the wardrobe. Something with a blue doublet and a white sash.

Lance stood from the bed, crossed the room, considered the outfit for a few seconds...and then he snatched it out of Coran’s hands with all the playful eagerness of someone breaking the rules.

As far as RPGs went, Lance supposed that was exactly what he was doing.

 

* * *

 

．．．ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｎｇ．．．

Ｕｓｅｒｎａｍｅ： Ｇａｓｔｒｏｐｈｙｓｉｃｉｓｔ

Ｐａｓｓｗｏｒｄ： ＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

．．．ｅｎｔｅｒｉｎｇ Ａｌｔｅａ．．．

Ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ ｔｏ Ａｌｔｅａ

At first, Hunk thought there must have been an error, that he hadn’t logged in properly, that he had his first bug to report to Shiro.

But then, a pair of glowing eyes peered at him through the blackness, and Hunk realized that it wasn’t that the textures hadn’t loaded in, but that it was just very, very dark.

And that was the last thought that ran through Hunk’s mind before he was pinned to a wall.

“Ow ow ow ow—!”

“Who are you?” demanded the creature with glowing eyes. “Who has sent you? Why are you in this place?”

“Aaaaah-I-don’t-know!” said Hunk, very quickly escalating into panic. If Shiro and Matt wanted their game to feel real, they’d done it. The terror Hunk was in was very, very real. “I just woke up here!”

“That is not an answer!” said the man with glowing eyes. “Answer properly, before I ensure that you are here no longer!”

Hunk wanted to scream, but before he got the chance, another pair of glowing eyes joined the first, and the gravelly sound of an elderly woman’s voice echoed across the stone walls.

“Calm yourself, Rax,” said the woman, her logic and patience a welcome contrast to this “Rax” person’s hostility. “This one is not Galra. He is no threat to our people. Are you, soft one?”

A blue light blossomed from the same direction as the voice, creating a cool, relaxing glow to illuminate the cave walls, lighting up every crack and stalactite, as well as the woman creating the glow and the man who had Hunk pinned to the cave wall.

“...Rock people,” breathed Hunk, his eyes widening. “That’s cool.”

 

* * *

 

“Well, don’t you look dashing?” chimed Coran, bright and chipper. Lance was very quickly learning that that was his default mood. “That’s bound to nab you all of the metaphorical ladies and/or gentlemen you could ever want.”

“You think?” Lance smirked and lifted the loose, ribbon-like sash that hung low enough to reach his knees. His sandal-clad feet barely made a sound when he turned in place, charmed by how light and feathery his sash looked when it floated around him. His messenger bag, by contrast, flapped and bounced, much less graceful, but able to hold so much more than the belt thieves were blessed with. It was clear that the clothes he wore were more suited for a stealth class, but that didn’t stop Lance from loving the way they felt.

“Of course!” said Coran closing the cabinet he’d been digging through when Lance had first reached the bottom of the stairs. “You look ready to take on this brand new world. And I’ve got a little quest to help you get started. No time limit, of course. Explore as much as you want before coming back. But…” He tilted a small bottle back and forth between his thumb and index finger. “If you get me some Bytor Water from the potion shop, I’ll make it worth your while.”

Lance frowned at the bottle for a moment before taking it and dropping it carefully into his bag. “All right, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Marvelous,” said Coran brightly. “Now, do you have everything? Map? Gold? Five white potions? Might want to double-check. That is why you’re here, after all. Make sure everything runs smoothly.”

“I’ve got it all,” said Lance. “Just looked before I came down the stairs.”

“Brilliant!” Coran clapped Lance’s shoulders. His normally shining eyes seemed to own an extra sparkle, something Lance hadn’t seen yet. “You’re ready, then. Go out and see the world your friends have created.”

Lance might have protested, might have said that “friends” was too strong a word for what Matt and Shiro had been to him, but the prospect of seeing what Arus was like was too strong. Houses were never where developers put their efforts. No, Lance was eager to see trees, rivers, even dirt as they looked in Altea.

Coran stepped back, gesturing toward the front entrance of the inn as if it were the gateway to another dimension rather than just the exit of a building, and Lance, eager as he was to see the world outside, felt that that was the perfect way to handle it.

The door opened easily, and Lance, took a single step outside and onto the dusty lot where the inn made its home.

Just one step.

He didn’t so much as cross his other foot over the threshold.

He was too overwhelmed by awe to move.

The dirt crunched under his feet, leaving a dry, shallow footprint under his sandal.

The leaves and branches of the zelkova trees, both near and distant, danced with the wind. They caught the breeze and bent with its flow, the narrow leaves fanning out and catching the sun and casting real, recognizable shadows.

The thatching of the roof of Coran’s inn cast a dark, uneven shape on the dirt, and when Lance turned his head and looked closely, he found he could see the outlines of individual straws, shadows that blurred and expanded when straws were farther from the earth and closer to the sun.

The rustle of the grass in the breeze caught Lance’s ears as if trying to claim that it, too, was remarkable. And it truly was. It caught the sun on every blade, and each blade cast a shadow on the blade beneath it.

Lance knelt to the ground and touched the earth.

A thin dusting of dirt clung to his fingertips, dirt that only removed itself when he dusted his hands off on his white trousers.

Not only was Altea incredibly realistic—completely imperceptible from the real world thus far—but the blue sky, the clouds, the sunlight...it was the most beautiful day Lance had seen in a long time. He swore he could smell the plant life.

Lips still parted in awe, Lance stood and finally crossed the threshold, sliding the door closed behind himself.

He took a deep breath, threw his head back, grinned, and whooped so triumphantly that he swore he must have done it out loud, loud enough for the neighbors to hear him, and he honestly couldn’t care less.

For the moment, the world outside of his headset didn’t matter. All there was was Arus.

Lance took off at a run.

The rocks shifted and grass bent under his feet. The wind whistled as fences and signposts rushed past Lance’s ears. He saw chickens that clucked rapidly, alarmed, and ran from him as he darted past their pens. A small dog rushed at him from around the corner of a fence and began to race down the path with him until his owner—an NPC, of course—called out for him.

At the discovery of a shallow river, rather than cross over the bridge, Lance ran headlong into the water itself. It splashed and provided real resistance as he ran through it. It didn’t change his run to a walk, but it did slow his legs and made his stamina meter pop into view. When he climbed onto the opposite bank, the water climbed up his legs and soaked his knee-length trousers all the way to his mid-thigh, spreading across the fabric just like real water would. Droplets gathered on his calves and welled against the straps of his gladiator sandals. The breeze chilled his wet legs and feet and successfully gave Lance goosebumps, though whether that was actually from the chill or the thrill, Lance couldn’t be entirely sure.

When Lance lifted his head, he realized very quickly that the arbitrary direction he’d decided to run in had led him directly to the castle. High stone walls, sweeping roofs, and red pillars towered over him like a watchful eye. Silhouettes shifted in the tall guard towers, backlit by the morning sun, and though Lance had no desire to anger whoever was watching him from those towers, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he detoured around the castle walls.

His clothes were still damp when he found the marketplace north of the castle. Dust and dirt turned to cobblestone under Lance’s feet, and the stretches of green and modest housing became a great deal more populated. Populated with houses, at least. Admittedly, it felt a bit like a ghost town. Still, signs advertising everything from “Smithy” to “The Fripping Bulgogian” swung above the door of each building Lance passed, which was quite a number of them, because the potion shop turned out to be the very last building on the street.

A tiny bell rang when Lance pushed the door open. The dark wood that made up nearly every surface seemed to give the small building a cozy feeling rather than a claustrophobic one. Shelves housing different colored liquids in various shapes and sizes of bottles and jars lined the walls, and at the counter across from the door stood a tiny, four-horned, lizard-like creature.

“Okay,” said Lance, absently opening the flap of his messenger bag, his eyes locked onto the pleasantly-smiling creature perched on a tall chair behind the counter. “ _You_ are _adorable_.”

“Thank you!” said the teeny, tiny creature with a voice far bassier than Lance had been expecting.

Far, _far_ bassier.

Bassy enough to make Lance drop the glass bottle he’d been holding, forcing him to stoop down almost to the floor to catch it. He loosed a sigh of relief once the bottle was safely in his hands. He wasn’t sure whether he could actually break it, but judging by how realistic the game had proven itself to be thus far, he wouldn’t be surprised.

“I’ll bet Coran sent you,” said the tiny, deep-voiced creature. “Let me guess, Bytor Water?”

Lance was able to keep his smile from breaking, but his eyes were still very, very wide.

Okay. So he _had_ heard that right. The question was whether that voice was intentional. Maybe he’d make a note of it. Let Shiro sort it out if it wasn’t intentional.

And if it was, well...this little guy was still cute, baritone or otherwise.

“Yeah,” said Lance. “Bytor...Water.” He tried not to think about what _Bytor Water_ actually _was_. “How did you know?”

When the tiny creature—the _Arusian_ , for want of a better word—took the bottle out of Lance’s hand and into his own, it seemed normal-sized in his hands. “Old Altean recipe of his,” explained the creature, hopping on top of the counter and walking to the large, black pot that brewed by the wall. “He’s always coming to me asking for more Bytor Water. Word of advice, if he ever gives you food or drink, pack it up and save it for later. It’ll be potent, real helpful in a pinch, but it’ll taste like Globinheffer snot.”

Lance grimaced. He didn’t know what a Globinheffer was, but he doubted the snot of _anything_ would taste particularly great. “Noted.”

The Arusian nodded and reached under the counter on his side for a ladle, one that looked remarkably out of place in the dusty shop.

“Whoa.” Lance cocked an eyebrow. “That’s...pretty fancy. Who even puts rubies in kitchen utensils?”

The Arusian just smiled and held the ladle out at arm’s length for Lance to see better. “It’s new,” he said proudly. “Got it in a trade with my favorite customer. Well, trade’s a strong word. All he wanted for it was a few stealth potions.”

“How much are stealth potions worth?” asked Lance, cocking an eyebrow.

“Not worth this,” said the Arusian, taking his ladle back and opening the pot. The second he lifted the lid, frost began to creep down the pewter from the mouth. “Just one of these rubies would probably be worth twenty stealth potions. For the whole ladle, he just wanted ten. Of course, the next time he came back, I told him he could come back and get refills any time he liked. Something like this is priceless for brewing love potions—keeps them from expiring so quickly—so it felt wrong to take it for such a low price. But he said it wasn’t necessary.” The creature shrugged his tiny shoulders, wrinkling the high collar of his yellow shirt, and dipped the ladle into the pot. The frost only climbed as high as the first ruby. “What he wanted ten and exactly ten for, I’ll never know. As far as I’m concerned, I’m indebted to him, so I won’t be asking any questions.”

He poured the ladle of Bytor Water into the bottle and handed it to Lance. Small crystals of ice were already growing on the glass.

“You’ll want to get that to the inn quick,” advised the shopkeeper. “Unless you want the ice to seal your bag shut.”

Lance nodded absently, only half-paying attention. His mind was still stuck on the mysterious ladle-trader. Everything about that screamed “sidequest” and yet what Lance could do with the information given was as much of a mystery to him as the purpose of the stealth potions was to the Arusian.

With a thoughtful hum, Lance tucked the Bytor Water into his bag. He wondered how much help Coran was allowed to give.

 

* * *

 

When Lance found his way back to the inn—after only a little bit of trouble, just enough to make him check his map once—he found Coran in the kitchen, standing over a hot cauldron.

Lance grimaced as he reached into his bag, remembering what the Arusian shopkeeper had told him about Coran’s food. “Hey, uh… What are you making?”

“You’ll see in a moment,” said Coran, smiling brightly as he turned around. “Providing you have the Bytor Water, that is.”

Hesitantly, Lance pulled the bottle out of his bag. The tiny ice crystals had grown much larger, almost large enough to seal the bottle shut. Almost. Lance wasn’t sure he was happy about how easily Coran was able to uncap the stopper.

Once the bottle had been opened, Coran reached for the lid of the pot and threw a conspiratorial wink over his shoulder.

“Want to see something cool?” he asked.

Lance, who wasn’t sure whether he wanted to see it or not but didn’t want to offend his new friend just yet, nodded, his brow creased with concern.

Coran raised his eyebrows jovially. “Thought you might,” he said. “Watch this.”

He lifted the lid of the cauldron and splashed whatever was inside with the Bytor Water, then closed it as quickly as he could.

He took a single step back.

Lance was tempted to take several steps back, but didn’t.

At first, nothing at all happened, save for the sounding of a high-pitched whistle from inside the cauldron.

Then the cauldron imploded with a bang, crumpling in on itself as fast as a flash.

“ _Holy crow_!” yelped Lance, his heart jumping into his throat. He turned on Coran unable to contain himself any longer. New friendship be damned; that scared the pants off him. “What the cheese was that?!”

“Oh, it’s not over yet,” said Coran, pointing at the cauldron. “Look.”

Lance cocked an eyebrow and turned his attention back to the pot.

Much slower than it had crumpled in on itself, it began to expand. The crumpling smoothed itself out, the cauldron returned to its previous size, and the lid clattered as if the cauldron’s contents were a sigh that had finally escaped.

Coran hummed a cheerful little tune as he bounded over to the pot. He lifted the lid without any kind of protective gear—something Lance would never have done after all that—and bent low, his entire arm disappearing into the cauldron.

When he pulled his hand out of the cauldron again, he was cradling what seemed to be a large lotus blossom in his hand. It was bulbous, only half-bloomed, but beautiful, sporting white petals that gradated to blue as they spread outward from the center.

“There you are,” said Coran brightly, holding the blossom out toward Lance. “An Arusian Water Lily. A fine starting item for a young mage. Just one of the petals on this flower should restore your mana completely.”

“Oh.” Lance frowned and took the blossom. He inspected it for a moment, then dropped it unceremoniously into his bag. “Great. That’ll probably come in handy once I, you know, actually have a spell to cast.”

“Would you like one?” asked Coran.

Lance’s eyes snapped open wide, and all his aggravation from the anticlimactic results of the cauldron’s implosion melted away instantaneously. “Uh, _yeah_?! Can you teach me?”

“Oh, no,” said Coran, tugging proudly at the lapels of his jacket. “I’m not a mage. How could _I_ teach you magic?”

Lance groaned and rolled his eyes so hard that his head rolled back on his shoulders. Why did he expect any different?

“ _But_ ,” said Coran, no less enthused, “I know where a teacher might be.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still slow, I know, I'm sorry. And Keith didn't even show up this chapter. It breaks my little heart. He'll be back soon. I promise.
> 
> If you want to contact me for any reason, you can contact me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/YouAreInAComa) or [Discord](https://discord.gg/hrgP6yj).


	3. Level 1

Thuja plicata. More commonly known as the shinglewood or the giant cedar. It was one of Matt’s favorite trees for its sheer size alone, and it might have been the tree he was buried under if not for how impractical it would have been to plant something that grew to be so large so fast in the middle of a forest full of other mourners.

It was a clear sign that Matt had been the brain behind Altea, seeing that he’d filled an entire region with densely-packed forests, each housing several enormous shinglewood trees.

Pidge scaled the side of one of the trees, frowning at the canopy above. It was hard to tell how high the trees rose, and it seemed like Pidge had already climbed for forever, as if the tree would never end. But they doubted Matt would have allowed the players such little agency.

There had to be a way for Pidge to get a vantage point, to see the world beyond the tops of the trees.

The first sign that there was indeed a sky above the tops of the trees came in the form of a single shaft of light that filtered down between the narrow, pine-like leaves. Resolve strengthened, Pidge doubled their speed, watching the steadily trickling stamina meter from the corner of their eye. The higher they climbed, the brighter it became, until, like breaking through the surface of the ocean, Pidge pushed through the highest branches and finally got a perfect view of the sky overhead.

And it was _beautiful_. Vivid, brilliant blue stained with soft, wispy, cirrus clouds.

“Okay,” breathed Pidge, absolutely floored. “That’s definitely Shiro’s touch.”

Before they could snap themselves back to reality, before they so much as remembered the reason why they’d climbed the tree in the first place, Pidge had their breath stolen away again, this time by something much more fantastical than the sky.

Something long and slender darted through the clouds, its red, serpent-like tail winding behind it like a snake slithering along the ground.

Pidge couldn’t keep their jaw from dropping.

“Dragons,” they whispered, frozen in awe. “This world has dragons. _Incredible_.”

 

* * *

 

“Lance, I really don’t recommend leaving at this hour,” warned Coran, shaking a closed book in Lance’s direction. “Not when you’ll be going into the forest. It’ll be night soon, and you won’t want to be caught in the woods when the sun sets.”

“So I’ll leave if it starts to get dark,” said Lance, shrugging confidently without so much as lifting his gaze from his inventory. “I’ve got potions, I’ve got the bow you gave me—I’m good, all right?”

“You say that now,” said Coran, “but you might change your tune once you see what that forest has to offer.”

“Look…” Lance closed the flap on his bag and adjusted the bag hanging across his chest. “This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve played more games than you can count, and I’ve done more than one zero EXP run of my favorite RPGs. If I can handle the final boss of Killbot Phantasm XIX with 20HP to my name, I think I can handle whatever’s waiting in those woods. I mean, what even happens when I die, anyway? Lose some items and float around as a ghost for a while?”

“You drop _all_ the items you have equipped,” said Coran, frowning. “And then you respawn here, in your room, unarmed and naked.”

“Sounds like a fun time,” said Lance. “ _And_ no big deal. If that happens, I just wait for the sun to come out and go back into the woods for my stuff when it’s less dangerous. Low risk, high reward.” He grinned eagerly and looked down at his hands as if he could already feel the magic coursing through him. “We’re talking my _first spell_ here. I want to shoot fire from my fingertips or something!”

“Fire will be coming out of more places than that if you’re not careful,” chided Coran, but when Lance’s smile shrank, he sighed, and the disapproval faded from his features.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “I can’t stop you. If you want to risk your life for a shiny new ability, that’s on you.” A smile pulled at his lips. “But I’ll be here when you get back. No matter what actually brings you back, your feet or your spirit.” He turned away and walked behind the counter. “And, by the way, I’d recommend buying a change of clothes and leaving it in your room. Even if it’s a set of peasant clothes you can get for five gold. Most shopkeepers won’t sell to you if you show up to their stores unclothed.”

Lance made a quick mental note: _No shirt, no shoes, no service._ “...Wait, _most_?”

Coran just shrugged. “Most.”

 

* * *

 

Wherever Rax or the woman Hunk came to know as his grandmother put their hands on the walls, they left trails of sparkling blue behind, blue that lit the way through the catacombs.

“We are sorry for startling you,” explained the old woman, dragging her claws across the stone walls with soft scraping sounds. “Not many but our kind and Galra appear in these catacombs. We have not seen benevolent skylings in quite some time. Long enough that I am unsure of whether or not Rax has seen any at all.”

“Galra?” asked Hunk, stepping precariously down from a short ledge that the woman five times his age had crossed without hesitation. “What are Galra?”

“You are lucky to not know,” said the woman, her four hoop earrings clanking against one another as she shook her head in melancholy. “They are war-kind. It is their actions that have forced us deep underground. Native Balmerans, Taujeerians… All here seek refuge from the oppressive Galra, all here yearn to be safe from their violence. This is why we dare not climb to the surface, for fear of what seeks us from above.”

“So we’re underground right now because you’re scared of an entire race of people?” Hunk raised an eyebrow. “Or is it, like, a nationality? Or an ideal? Do people choose to be Galra, or are they born into it? And if it’s not something you choose to be, is there, like, a rebellion among them? Do you know?”

Before Hunk’s endless stream of questions could continue, the light several feet ahead of him, at Rax’s hand, flickered out, plunging Rax in darkness. The only sign of him for a few seconds was the soft clap of his feet as he charged closer, and then he stepped into his grandmother’s light. The blue illuminated his furious face as he trudged by his grandmother and grabbed Hunk by the front of his white undergarment.

“Do you dare sympathize with Galra?” he demanded. Looking into the fierce fury of Rax’s eyes, it was easy for Hunk to forget he was just playing a game.

“No!” blurted Hunk frantically, raising his hands in surrender. “No-no-no! I’m just trying to understand more about what’s going on!”

“We have told you all you need to know,” growled Rax, his glowing eyes narrowing. “We will provide you with garments and we will show you the way to the city. Beyond that, you are no longer our problem.”

Rax dropped Hunk and whipped around, his long tail dragging along the cave floor.

“I thought they were perfectly reasonable questions,” grumbled Hunk, crossing his arms. “But no, apparently they’re too much for Captain Cranky.”

Rax’s grandmother sighed, catching Hunk’s eye instantly. Weariness deepened her wrinkles as well as her frown.

“We have lost much to the Galra,” she explained. “That one has always been angry, but never angrier than when we lost Shay.”

“Shay?”

“That one is—or was—my granddaughter.”

Hunk uncrossed his arms. His shoulders drooped.

That...hit a little close to home. Too close not to understand.

Pidge was the same. Everything made them angry anymore. Especially doctors.

It would have been hard not to understand where Rax was coming from.

“I get it,” said Hunk. “I won’t bring up the Galra anymore.” To Rax or to anyone else, in case they went through the same situation. If he was in a post-war society, he didn’t want to wind up looking like the Altean-equivalent of a Nazi sympathizer.

“It is best that way,” said Rax’s grandmother, a sad smile on her face. “However, should you still seek answers, there is a library. When we lead you to the city, I will show you the way.”

 

* * *

 

The sun had already begun to set before Lance reached the outskirts of the forest. Though he remembered Coran’s warning, he only hesitated for a moment before he passed between the two red flags tied around the trunks of the trees that marked the official entrance.

“No big deal,” muttered Lance, gripping his new bow in his right hand. “I just won’t go far from the edge of the trees. If night hits, I’ll leave. That simple.”

Though Lance said that, the crunch of dry leaves under his feet was intoxicating, his curiosity was a powerful force, and it wasn’t long before he found himself deeper in the forest than he’d meant to go.

And that was when he noticed that there was more to the forest than just trees.

There were lots of low-leveled enemies, which Lance had expected to some degree. Lots of strange, six-legged, three-eyed, rabbit-like creatures. They didn’t attack unless provoked, and with Lance more interested in exploration than experience, he left them alone for the most part. There were also larger creatures. Pink. Vaguely moose-like. Upon close inspection, their hair was thicker than it at first seemed. In fact, it seemed wooly. Though curious of whether it might drop wool once defeated, Lance had no desire to engage those creatures in combat. Not when their heads alone were nearly as large as Lance’s whole body.

More curious than the wild fauna, however, were the piles of ash.

They weren’t natural, Lance could tell that much. They didn’t spread across the forest like a wildfire. They were all localized, as if someone had cut down a tree and burned the stump. But the piles were spread out. No two were adjacent to one another. And in the center of each one was a plant growing out of the ash. In many cases, those plants were tree saplings at various stages in growth, but on more than one occasion, Lance found shrubs growing from the ash instead. Flowering shrubs. And not just any flower. Every single time Lance found one of those shrubs, it was growing a single red hibiscus.

What that could possibly mean had Lance utterly stumped, right up until he found a series of shrines.

They looked almost like tiny altars—carved stone balanced on top of two stone legs. Many of them were unmarked. Some marked with letters Lance couldn’t read. Some were in pristine condition. Many were knocked over. One, in particular, was broken in half, right down the middle.

But one stood out amongst the rest. One shrine that was different, one in an absolutely perfect state. It was somehow barren of dust and dirt despite being in the heart of a forest, intricately carved around its edges, and though there were dozens of symbols, most of them were unreadable, save for a few, right in the center.

 

**IN LOVING MEMORY**

**OF**

**MATT HOLT**

It was barely visible through the countless hibiscus flowers.

“Oh.” Lance sighed quietly. “Shiro.”

He still didn’t know Shiro very well. He wasn’t even sure whether he liked him yet. They hadn’t spoken for any longer than it was necessary for Lance to be able to connect _The Shattering of Altea_ to his VolTech headset. And he doubted that would change after Lance was finished play-testing.

But Lance could understand mourning, at the very least. Especially when the one being mourned was the brother of one of his best friends.

Unsure of what else to do—there was no ‘Press F to pay respects’ command prompt—Lance lowered himself carefully to his knees, set his bow on the ground, and closed his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here, you know.”

Lance might have wondered whether the voice that he heard belonged to Matt Holt himself if not for the fact that it clearly belonged to a woman.

Alarmed and confused, Lance opened his eyes, and he saw not a woman, but a mouse. She was small, gray, with the slightest magenta sheen to its glossy fur. Her whiskers twitched as she emerged from the shadow of Matt’s shrine.

“It’s a dangerous time right now,” said the mouse, her tiny nose wiggling as she spoke. “Come back in nine vargas, when the sun is out again.”

“Come back for wh—”

“You should start running now,” said the tiny mouse, cutting Lance off. “If you want to survive, that is. If not, I guess this is as good a place as any to die.”

Lance’s eyes widened. He knew that the mouse was just trying to warn him of whatever happened in the forest at night, just like Coran had, but that didn’t make him shiver any less from the way she’d said it. “Hey—!”

Before Lance could so much as voice his protest, the mouse disappeared in a shimmer of violet sparkles.

Lance reached for his bow, not about to test the words of what seemed to be a magical mouse in a graveyard.

And it was a good thing he hadn’t, because the second Lance reached for his bow, he heard a distant howl, and the ground began to shake.

“Oh, no…”

Mist rose out of the earth. At first, it seemed to all rise at once, but Lance quickly determined patches. He thought for less than a second that the fog rose in patches because it was an asset rather than a true effect, that the fog was made up of several transparent objects.

And then, though the trees, past the shrines, he saw the fog start to take shape.

Lance squinted and leaned forward, pressing a hand flat against the ground. “What the…?”

He watched the fog coalesce into humanoid silhouettes, details blurred and darkened by the real haze.

He saw bones and worm-eaten clothes and strings of sinew.

And he saw one of those humanoid silhouettes turn its head in his direction.

A transparent alert popped up in front of Lance’s face in a calming blue that contrasted starkly with the heavy thumping of his heart, which seemed to be trying to punch a hole through his ribcage.

╔═════════════════════════════════╗

Ｂｕｆｆ： Ａｄｒｅｎａｌｉｎｅ Ｒｕｓｈ

ᴬᶰ ᵉᶰᵉᵐʸ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ˢᵗʳᵒᶰᵍᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃᶰ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃˢ ᵗᵃʳᵍᵉᵗᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘ

Ｅｆｆｅｃｔ： Ｓｔａｍｉｎａ Ｉｎｃｒｅａｓｅ

╚═════════════════════════════════╝

The humanoid and clearly decaying enemy began to move, advancing very quickly on the other side of that calming blue alert.

Lance scrambled to his feet as quickly as his lanky limbs would allow. He turned so quickly that his feet scraped against the ground and he kicked up dirt. Without sparing a second to see whether the rest of the shadows in the fog were chasing him as well, he bolted.

The initial blue alert faded the second Lance began to run, and in its place appeared the same green meter Lance had seen when he’d tried to run through the stream earlier that day. That time of ecstasy seemed worlds away, and it was hard for Lance to believe he was still playing the same game.

“When did this turn into a horror game?!” he cried out in a burst of frustration, and to his shock, the stamina meter decreased for every syllable he spoke. If Lance were in a better situation, he might have congratulated Matt and Shiro for thinking of that, because of course yelling while running is bound to be more exhausting. In the moment, however, Lance couldn’t think of anything but how much that made him want to scream _more_.

 _What happens if I run out of stamina?!_ wondered Lance desperately. _Do I have to walk, or do I just totally stop—? Like it matters! Either way, I’m dead! Oh, man, I should have listened to Coran._

In a moment of weakness, Lance looked over his shoulder.

And he realized, for the first time, just how huge the beings chasing him were. They were _enormous_ —each broad-shouldered and at least a solid eight feet tall—with sunken eyes that glowed an alarming violet. They were fast, too, and moved like any normal human would. If it weren’t for the ashen skin and visible teeth and bones, Lance might have thought he was being pursued by normal soldiers.

But there was nothing normal about the militia of undead warriors hot on his tail.

Lance tore his eyes away from the soldiers, but before he got a chance to so much as look at where he was going, something collided with his side, hard.

His deep red HP bar stood out above his stamina bar.

Or, at least, it had been deep red. Now it was an almost even distribution of red and black.

The white numbers on what was left of the metallic-looking red color displayed ２５/５１.

Definitely not a good sign. Another hit like that would send him back to the inn. But what had hit him? That wasn’t a sword. It wasn’t even a football tackle. Lance felt as though he’d been hit by a truck, though he somehow doubted he’d find a truck in a place like Arus.

Groaning, he pushed himself onto his arms and lifted his gaze from the dirt.

One of the wooly moose creatures from before stood before him, head bowed in front of its high shoulders.

“You?!” blurted Lance. “You were so docile before! What happened?!”

The moose responded by charging, and Lance barely managed to jump to his feet in time to avoid being trampled.

But not in time to miss the glow in the moose’s eyes. Violet. Just like the soldiers.

The soldiers who were a great deal closer than they had been before Lance was thrown.

He’d gone from having a small army of the undead after him to having a small army of the undead and a _pink moose_ after him. If Lance had been looking at himself from the outside, he might have laughed.

He knew it was just a game. He remembered that it was just a game. But when he could smell the rotting flesh in the air, it all felt so real.

And he _could_ smell it. He was absolutely sure this time. It wasn’t just his imagination before. Somehow, Matt and Shiro had figured out how to emulate smells. Remarkable. New. Unheard of. _Absolutely horrifying_.

Without warning, Lance was yanked back as if by a strong hand. Eyes wide, he whipped his head to find the ends of the sash around his waist snagged by a thorned branch. Something between a disbelieving laugh and a whimper slipped between Lance’s lips and he yanked hard on his sash with both hands, too panicked for the thought of untangling himself properly to even enter his mind.

The slow refilling of his stamina meter was almost scary in and of itself. It meant that he wasn’t moving. But the soldiers were. They had to be. Right?

Frantic, Lance lifted his head and looked behind himself.

Just in time to see an explosion.

Flames blossomed out from a single point like the petals of a flower trying to show its gardener just how fast it could bloom. Several of the soldiers were taken out as quickly as the fire was created, and the few that were left ran into the flames, either ignorant of the fire that was bound to kill them or simply uncaring in their desperation to reach whoever was casting the pitch black silhouette in the center of the flames.

The fire died as quickly as it was born, and through the smoke and the fog, Lance watched the same figure that had created the fire reach for a sword at his back. As much as Lance liked the idea of this mysterious stranger being on his side, there was always the possibility that they were just bloodthirsty and out to kill anything and everything, and Lance wasn’t going to stick around to figure out which it was.

Rather than trying to waste any more time trying to untangle himself from the briars, Lance stomped down on the branch, took the －２ to his HP like a champ, snapped the branch in half, and ran while he still had the chance.

When Lance finally emerged from the forest and reached the front door of the inn, it was with no stamina, less than half of his HP remaining, and a branch attached firmly to his sash. He slammed the door with what was left of his strength and leaned against it, panting, one tired arm pointing accusingly at Coran.

“You didn’t...say...there were _zombies_ ,” he gasped between gulps of air.

“Well…” Coran raised his eyebrows. “That’s because there _aren’t_ zombies. There are, however, draugrs.”

“Oh!” Lance threw his arms up with so much force that they slammed noisily into the door behind him. “Well, that makes it okay, then! Since they’re not technically zombies, that’s just fine! You didn’t have to warn me about them at all!”

“All right, then, you big baby,” chided Coran, his hands on his hips. “Are you going to sit there and whine all day, or are you going to heal up in front of the fire?”

Lance sighed and let his hands fall to the floor.

He could feel the sting of the thorns that cut him through his sandal.

“Healing...sounds pretty good.”

 

* * *

 

The last of the draugrs disappeared in a puff of white smoke. Keith scanned the forest for any further enemies, but found nothing. Not even whoever it was he’d saved from the draugrs.

It was lucky Keith had been there when he was. If he hadn’t taken a little longer than he’d meant farming the wool he needed, whoever that was would have been a goner for sure.

But it was certainly strange. All of the villagers knew better than to wander into the woods after dark, especially near the shrines. Even the children knew better. And though Keith didn’t get a good look at the person he saved, he could tell it was no child.

A horrifying thought passed through Keith’s mind, one that tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword.

“I hope you’re not a player,” he whispered, staring into the fog, where the person he’d saved once stood.

It was one thing to protect a bit of data, something else to save a life.

Especially when Keith took into consideration the very real possibility that he could fail.

 

* * *

 

Lance opened his eyes and carefully pulled off his VolTech headset before running his hand through his hair. As fun as games were with the headset, those elegant, white strips of alloy that wrapped around the back and top of his head never failed to make his hair look like utter garbage.

Groaning, Lance set the headset aside and sat up to stretch his back. According to Coran, his character wouldn’t disappear while he was logged out. It would just...sleep right where Lance left it until he returned. Which was very strange to think about. Lance almost felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. But if Matt and Shiro were going for realism, they definitely achieved it. In more ways than just that, too. Everyone knew that having a headset that sent signals directly to the brain meant that games might someday be able to emulate more senses than just sight and sound, and Killbot Phantasm had proven that by incorporating tangible resistance the year before.

But that was just resistance. The sensation of a table physically being there when you rested your hands on top of it, or the realism of being able to push open a door. Lance had read more than one discussion about how long it would take to incorporate things like smell and taste in games, and most people suggested at least another decade.

But that didn’t change the fact that Lance swore the smell of rotting flesh still burned in his nostrils, and it didn’t keep him from hesitating before putting his foot down on the floor next to his bed, as if he was afraid that the tiny cut from his run-in with that hawthorn still existed in the real world.

He’d have to remember to taste something when he logged back in. Preferably something Coran didn’t cook.

But until then, Lance’s very real stomach was growling, and there was a sandwich in the kitchen with his name on it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, guys. I know, it's been a week. Sorry 'bout that. Work was kind of hellish for a while. But things should be back to normal. I hope.
> 
>  
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/YouAreInAComa)  
> [Discord](https://discord.gg/hrgP6yj)


	4. Level 2

“Hey, Hunk, do you want— Oh.”

Lance froze in the archway between the living room and the kitchen. On the far side of the living room, by the door to the balcony, was Hunk, still wearing his VolTech headset, which was flashing warning red lights. Red that stated that Hunk was in a high-stress situation, like a boss battle. Or like being chased by a bunch of draugrs, like Lance had been just moments before.

It was a polite warning to all those that might otherwise disturb the person playing, a figurative “Do Not Disturb” sign.

Lance, who knew better than to disturb, retreated back into the kitchen without a word.

When he made himself his sandwich, however, he made sure to grab a second plate, and on his way back to his room, he left the second plate—stacked with two sandwiches and a pile of chips—on the nightstand next to where Hunk sat. Whatever he was dealing with, it was bound to work up an appetite. Goodness knew it had done that much for Lance.

Lance shuffled back to his room to avoid bothering Hunk further and dropping onto the edge of his bed, next to his still-running headset. The calm, blue lights faded in and out like a firefly trying its hardest to grab his attention, and it was definitely working.

Even knowing that he’d just narrowly escaped an unfortunate death to the many, many swords of many, many undead soldiers, Lance was drawn back to Altea as if by a siren’s song.

So as not to waste any more time than necessary, Lance reached for the notebook he’d set aside and began to write down a brief summary of his experiences thus far.

  * Very convincing AI
  * No bugs found so far
  * Suggestion: Separate armor slots for aesthetic vs function  
  




* * *

 

Hunk raised the lever on his lantern, exposing more of the glowing, blue crystal inside, brightening the light so that he could better see the book he was reading.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done so much research on the lore of a video game, and he doubted all of it was necessary. But it was interesting. And there were certainly some necessary discoveries in his research.

What Balmera was, for example. That was important.

The more Hunk read about the Balmeran world, the more he was reminded of an anthill. It seemed to be entirely composed of winding, intersecting, feral tunnels, most of which ended in normal-looking rooms that were structured with stone bricks and a substance similar to concrete. Despite the rough and ragged tunnels that led from place to place, homes and public buildings looked the same as any other buildings might, down to the carved stone doors. The only wide-open space was the city, which in truth looked less like someone might expect a city to look and more like a wide, circular opening at the bottom of a wide pit. The walls were lined with short tunnels, each leading to a different public building ranging from butcher shops and tailors to the library where Hunk sat.

But, as interesting as the city was, Hunk was far more interested in what he’d quickly deemed to be his first real goal.

Each country had its defenses. If you wanted to see the world beyond your starting country, you had to fight for it.

Balmera’s defenses were simple enough. Find the stairs on every level, climb to the next, keep going until the surface was found. Easy-peasy.

Or it would be if each floor wasn’t guarded by stronger and stronger enemies the closer one got to the surface.

And if Hunk wasn’t a healer, which were only as well-known for their healing as they were for their _low DPS_.

Hunk slammed his forehead hard against the book he was reading and whined pathetically in the back of his throat. “I hate my life…”

A warbling, layered, “Shhhh,” got Hunk’s attention from across the table, and he lifted his head to find an annoyed-looking Taujeerian turned toward him with an eyeless face, a tiny finger drawn over its tube-like mouth.

“ _Oh_ ,” whispered Hunk, grimacing as he shrank back into his chair. “ _Sorry_.”

 

* * *

 

A tiny beetle, emerald in both color and sheen, was tossed into the air by a sudden gust of wind. It tumbled and twirled until it managed to open its shell and extend its transparent, earthy wings. Once its wings were open, it no longer rolled, but the wind carried it higher and higher as if dragging it by a parachute.

With some effort, the beetle barely managed to latch onto a branch that made a path from one tree to the next. Cautiously, it pulled itself across the bridge, watching the villagers below gasp and cover their mouths. A low buzz of conversation rose with the wind, not a single word audible to the beetle from where it climbed across the branch with its combed feet.

Not until the beetle reached the far end of the branch, where it ducked into an opening carved into the tree, did it bother to breathe. It sighed and stretched out, two of its tiny feet folding into its body, which was steadily growing, its front feet stretching high above its head and defining into clear elbows and hands while its lower legs slid down to the end of its abdomen where they folded into crouched knees. Eyes widened, turning from black to a soft honey color while they drew closer together. Antennae shrank, disappearing into short, wavy locks of light brown hair.

Pidge adjusted their glasses and crept toward the edge of the opening, where the wind still roared.

“What’s that all about?”

 

* * *

 

Coran raised his eyebrows and rushed to the window of his inn to throw open the rattling, whistling shutters. Wind rushed into his lobby, sending shudders through his potted plants and rustling the pages of the book he’d been reading, making him lose his place.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the wind act in such a way, and he doubted it would be the last, but it was always alarming, even knowing full well what it meant.

He turned in place, his attention switching instantly to the boy curled up by the fire, both his hair and the blanket he was wrapped up in mere marionettes in the fierce wind.

What a shame that Lance had to miss something so rare.

 

* * *

 

The wind kicked up, rising from the earth beneath Keith’s feet and blasting straight upward, tousling his dark hair as it reached high, high above.

Keith narrowed his eyes at the starry sky.

“The winds are changing,” he whispered, watching the pale, blue clouds alter course in their journey through the night.

He closed his eyes. The wind tugged at the loose cloth under his armor, rippling the red fabric like wheat in a gusty field.

Change.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about change.

His parents used to tell him that it was a good thing, that the world is always changing, that life shouldn’t be predictable, that change was necessary to see everything that the world had to offer.

Shiro used to say the same.

Keith wondered whether, after the changes he’d recently been forced to face, Shiro still felt that way.

Somehow, he doubted it.

 

* * *

 

Hunk looked down at the F1 map he’d purchased, then back to the crossroads he’d hit.

“I...think I’m here?” he mumbled, squinting down at the parchment. “Unless...that was back there.” He groaned and pushed a hand through his bangs, lifting his gaze again. “There are way too many roads here. I’m gonna be so lost.” He dropped to the floor and let his lantern fall from his hand, drowning the room in darkness. “Who am I kidding? I’m _already_ lost.”

With a pathetic sigh, Hunk flopped back and dropped the map over his face, plunging him into darkness.

The cool stone of the floor of the cave pressed into his back in all the wrong places. It pushed at his shoulders and poked between his vertebrae with almost alarming realism, making the rumbling from the floor that much more difficult to ignore.

Frowning curiously, Hunk sat up, letting the map fall from his face. He hurriedly folded it and shoved it into the bag that hung from his waist, freeing his hands to press flat against the earth.

He closed his eyes, concentrating on the barely-felt vibrations that thrummed through the cave floor.

Hunk was no tracker. He’d managed to get himself lost, even with a map. But he knew that those rumbles weren’t coming from the city. The city was far, far behind him. It had to be something else. Exactly what, Hunk wasn’t sure. It could have been a second, hidden city. It could have been some kind of river. Or it could have been a bunch of monsters guarding the stairway to the second level.

Regardless of which, it was leading the way to something, and an unknown lead was better than any lead it all.

When Hunk opened his eyes again, he found a blue mana bar gleaming at him.

３５/３６

He took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled through his mouth.

Something he’d just done had required magic. Exactly what, Hunk wasn’t sure. He hadn’t learned any spells, and whatever he’d done had been so gentle on his mana that it had only taken one MP. Still, whatever had caused it, surely that meant Hunk must have used some sort of ability, something perhaps innate to a healer. Something he hadn’t even realized he was doing. Maybe just tuning in to the earth.

３４/３６

Well, whatever it was, he was still doing it, and it was steadily draining his MP. He was bound to run out eventually, and he had nothing to replenish his MP with. No items at all, aside from his map or his lantern.

There was no time to hesitate.

“All right.” Hunk rolled his neck on his shoulders and grabbed his lantern off the ground, but left the crystal inside covered by the metal cap. He got the feeling he wouldn’t need to see where he was going.

He just had to feel it.

“This is insane,” he muttered, and made his way into the left tunnel, following the vibrations.

 

* * *

 

．．．ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｎｇ．．．

Ｕｓｅｒｎａｍｅ： ＴｈｅＴａｉｌｏｒ

Ｐａｓｓｗｏｒｄ： ＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

．．．ｅｎｔｅｒｉｎｇ Ａｌｔｅａ．．．

Ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ ｔｏ Ａｌｔｅａ

 

* * *

 

Yet again, the world unfolded like paper, but unlike before, when Lance had woken up in a bed, this time, he sat in a chair.

Apparently, he’d slept there.

And it definitely felt like it. His neck was stiff.

But the cut in his feet from the thorns had faded completely. There was none of that sharp, papercut-like pain to be found. And his HP was back to normal, a solid ５１/５１.

The front door to the inn was open, allowing bright light and a cool, gentle breeze to drift in from the outside, tugging at the leaves of Coran’s plants.

Lance climbed out of the blanket he’d been using and folded it over the back of his chair.

In doing so, he noticed a package on the floor by his feet. It was small, wrapped in brown paper, completely unassuming.

Save for the white label tied to it with twine.

Ｔｏ： Ｌａｎｃｅ

Ｆｒｏｍ： Ｍａｔｔ Ｈｏｌｔ

“What the hell?” breathed Lance, bending down low, his fingers hovering over the top of the paper. In any other situation, he would have immediately assumed that ghosts were involved and he would have steered as clear from the package as possible.

But he was in a game. A game designed mostly by Matt Holt himself. It was possible that he’d programmed a gift to spawn next to the player upon the second time they logged in. Or maybe specifically for the beta players. Or just for Pidge’s friends. After all, it did show Lance’s real name, and his character had been pre-created. His role as a mage had been chosen for him from the start, and his username was just his username for his VolTech. It was possible Matt had designed the character while he was still alive and that he’d done something to attach a gift to it in the process.

Still, even knowing that it was more likely to be programming than evil spirits, Lance was a bit nervous about touching the package.

It was still something left behind by his best friend’s late brother. And there was still something weird about that.

It was only the promise of something to prevent a repeat of the disaster in the forest that gave Lance the courage to reach down and touch the box.

He picked it up slowly, turning it over in his hands, half-expecting to find a note, or something eerie scrawled on the side like, “If you see this, I’m already dead.” But there was no such eerie scrawl. It was just a normal parcel.

Lance sat back down in his chair and began to pick at the twine, wishing he’d had a knife to cut it with instead. After a good amount of picking, Lance was finally able to unfurl the knot, and the twine and paper were easily pulled away, revealing a modest wooden box with hinges and a tiny, brass clasp. Lance raised an eyebrow and unlatched the clasp.

The box opened almost anticlimactically. It wasn’t a trap. There was no trick to it. It simply opened. With such little effort, Lance expected a small sum of gold or a healing item inside, as if it were a chest found inside a dungeon in a normal RPG.

So he was pleasantly surprised when he propped the lid open and found a necklace instead.

“Huh.”

He pulled the round pendant out of the box and tilted it toward the light. At first, it had seemed like a simple gold circle, like an unmarked coin, but when it hit the sun just right, Lance saw the faintest hint of a design. A very simple one, but a design no less. A circle with a dot in the very center, like a cartoon eye, made of a metal that didn’t catch the sun in quite the same way.

Lance didn’t have a clue what it was for or why he’d gotten it—honestly, it could have been given to him to sell for all he knew—but it was pretty neat, and Lance had no doubt that it would look cool over his thief clothes.

 

* * *

 

It was suspicious, to be sure.

Hunk had read all about how the world was supposed to work, all about how every tunnel leading up to the door was supposed to be filled with enemies and how every door was supposed to be guarded by a boss that held the key.

But there was the door, and somehow, Hunk had managed to find his way through the tunnels without running into a single enemy.

Warily, Hunk walked across the near-empty room and made his way to the short flight of stairs that led to the door. He reached for the handles of the enormous, golden double doors.

They didn’t budge.

He pulled harder.

Still nothing.

“You’re locked?” Hunk groaned and let his forehead drop against the door. The walking stick that carried his lantern fell forward as well, knocking gently against the surface of the door. “What am I supposed to do about _that_?”

Hunk’s answer came much sooner than he’d expected.

The rumbling in the floor was back, and this time, he didn’t need to deplete his mana bar to feel it. It would have been impossible to miss.

Shaking as much as the floor, Hunk hesitantly pulled his face away from the door and turned in place to inspect the room around him.

He gripped his staff tight and pulled it against his chest, the lantern swinging loosely by his head.

“Okay…” he whispered nervously. “Things are starting to look very, _very_ boss-battle-y.”

The rock floor began to crumble like old cheese, falling away as something enormous and blue emerged from the bottom of the cave. Its legs pushed stone out of the way and it shook the earth from its body, revealing what looked like an enormous, blue, Madagascar hissing cockroach, down to the horns on its shell.

And Hunk was suddenly very, very aware of the fact that he was level one and hadn’t so much as gained a single experience point. All he had was a walking stick he’d bought from the weapons shop and a lantern he’d yielded from trying out the crafting system. He hadn’t even fought a single monster, and he was already face-to-face with the first boss.

And it was very, very easy for Hunk to forget that he was playing a video game when he was face-to-face with a giant insect.

A pair of curious, blue feelers reached out for Hunk, earning a grimace as they tapped against Hunk’s tense, frozen shoulders.

“This was a mistake,” whispered Hunk through clenched teeth. “A _huge_ mistake.”

And if Hunk hadn’t figured out that much on his own just yet, how big of a mistake it really was when the huge cockroach-like creature demonstrated it was very much not a hissing cockroach by screeching, loud and long and high-pitched, like nails on a chalkboard. It reared up on its hind legs, curving its body like a snake ready to strike, and it slammed down with all its weight so quickly that Hunk was barely able to dodge in time.

Sobbing loudly, Hunk tore away from the boss, heading toward the opening he’d entered through as quickly as his legs would carry him, but before he could reach the tunnel entrance, a solid slab of rock slammed down, cutting Hunk’s only exit off.

The stone beneath Hunk’s feet shifted and crumbled, sending him off-balance and throwing him onto his back, just as the boss emerged from the floor again, already reared up.

It screeched with all its might as it threw itself down toward Hunk. Hunk raised his arms over his head. His walking stick clattered uselessly to the floor. He waited for the strike to land, for the imminent ‘Game Over’.

But it never came.

Warily, Hunk opened his eyes and peered around his arms to find someone, a Balmeran, looming over him, lit only by the lantern Hunk had dropped.

She was shaking with the effort to hold the cockroach creature off. Her shoulders were trembling, her bare feet sliding across the floor, but she somehow managed to keep herself upright.

“Group on!” she cried out, twisting her halberd, her muscles rippling with effort. Two happy, blue faces lit up in a rounded square by her shoulder. They only disappeared when the Balmeran shoved against the cockroach, knocking it onto its back.

“You, too!” she said hurriedly, turning around with wide, glimmering, yellow eyes. “Toggle the group option on your settings!”

Hunk scrambled to his knees, slapping the ground frantically in his panicked attempt to grab his walking stick. “H-H-H-H-How do I do that?!” he stammered out, his gaze locked onto the mysterious hero who had saved him.

“You must say what I had said!” the Balmeran informed urgently. Then, gripping her halberd tight in both hands, she dug her feet into the ground and took off after the boss.

“Say what—” Hunk shook his head, sending the ends of his yellow headband flying. “Uh— Uh— Uh— Group on!”

The same happy blue face icon appeared in the corner of Hunk’s eye. A blue line automatically drew itself from his icon to the Balmeran’s like a calming pulse of light. A window appeared in front of Hunk’s face.

╔═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｗｏｕｌｄ ｙｏｕ ｌｉｋｅ ｔｏ ａｄｄ ｔｈｉｓ ｕｓｅｒ ｔｏ ｙｏｕｒ ｇｒｏｕｐ？

▶ＹＥＳ◀

ＮＯ

╚═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

“Yes!” screamed Hunk hysterically rather than touching the appropriate option from the prompt.

The game seemed to take his frantic screaming as an input. The word ＹＥＳ glowed blue for a moment, then the prompt faded away, and Hunk saw a bright red health bar appear above the Balmeran’s head.

And he watched that health meter deplete when the boss rammed her.

“Hey!” shouted Hunk, and with a burst of courage that he didn’t know he had inside of him, Hunk gripped his walking stick and rushed to the Balmeran’s aid.

The Balmeran threw out a hand.

“No!” she said, jumping away from the cockroach. “You are a healer! Stay away from the boss!”

“But I don’t know any spells yet!” protested Hunk, gripping his walking stick. “How do I help you?”

The Balmeran didn’t answer until the boss burrowed underground. “Weble has a second phase,” she explained, her gleaming eyes searching the floor. “When it calls upon the smaller ones, attend to those. But be careful.” She met Hunk’s eyes with her own, and Hunk’s heart skipped a beat at the unexpected intensity that shone within them.

“Got it,” said Hunk, nodding firmly.

As if on cue, dozens of creatures similar to the boss, _Weble_ as the Balmeran called it, came trembling to the surface of the earth, shaking dust from their shells.

Hunk charged toward the one closest to the Balmeran and smacked it hard, sending it flying into the nearest wall.

When it screeched its dying wail, the ground trembled again, and Weble itself resurfaced right in front of Hunk.

Hunk barely had time to stumble backward when the Balmeran dove in front of him and plunged the pointed end of her halberd into Weble’s underbelly.

Weble screeched and moved back, and Hunk barely remembered to turn his attention to the smaller spawns in time to save the Balmeran from a knee-high bite.

The Balmeran took off after Weble, and Hunk followed close behind her, smacking any and all of the smaller enemies away as if they were baseballs and he was a cleanup hitter.

When Hunk dared to look over his shoulder at the Balmeran herself, he was far from surprised to see that she was doing well for herself. Weble’s HP was dropping faster than a barometer fired into the sky, and the Balmeran was barely working up a sweat.

She was _incredible_.

And she was about to get ankle-bitten by a calf-tall blue cockroach.

“Shoot—!”

Hunk charged forward, but he wasn’t fast enough to stop the inevitable bite.

The Balmeran cried out, surprised, and Hunk watched her HP drop barely more than a point. That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that the bite distracted the Balmeran from the boss, stopping her from dealing the killing blow before she got the chance.

Weble, however, wasn’t so slow to seize opportunity. It rammed the Balmeran hard, sending her flying several feet and knocking down a quarter of her HP.

Hunk cried out in surprise. He started to run toward the Balmeran.

But then he noticed the halberd.

It was on the ground, just inches away.

And the boss only had the tiniest sliver of health left.

Hunk dropped his walking stick.

“I am officially insane,” he muttered, and he dove for the halberd.

It was heavy in his hands, much heavier than he was expecting it to be, but he could raise it to his waist, and that was all he needed. He gripped it with both hands, let loose a determined roar, and rammed at the boss with all his strength.

The halberd jammed between two of the cockroaches armored plates, but it didn’t sink in deeply enough to pierce the back of its neck.

At least, not until another pair of arms joined Hunk’s.

The Balmeran had recovered quickly.

They pushed down hard with all of their strength, eliciting uncomfortable squirming and flailing from their adversary as they plunged deeper into the armored shell, centimeter after centimeter of the polearm disappearing past the plates until it finally, finally pushed through.

What was left of Weble’s HP disappeared almost instantly.

It stopped moving.

The smaller enemies turned to dust.

Weble began to glow.

Hunk stepped warily back, afraid of what the glowing might bring.

The glow grew brighter and brighter and brighter until Hunk’s eyes began to hurt, and just when Hunk was sure that he was watching a supernova take place, the boss burst into dusty, blue flakes that scattered all around the room, leaving nothing behind but white smoke and a pink key that slowly descended from the top of the room.

Well, that and a golden experience bar that popped up in front of Hunk’s face, filling up very quickly. Once it stopped filling up, a proud exclamation appeared above the bar.

Ｌｅｖｅｌ ２

The bar itself was nearly completely filled, indicating that Hunk had nearly gotten two full levels from that single battle alone.

He’d never felt weaker.

But then, he’d never tried to take on a boss before he’d even fought a single enemy. He would never have been able to take it down without help.

The Balmeran reached up and snatched the pink key out of the air, inspected it for a moment, then turned around, a bright smile on her face.

And before Hunk knew what was happening, he was being hugged.

“Um—!”

The Balmeran chuckled and pulled away, still beaming. “I apologize for my behavior. I am only happy to not be by myself anymore.”

Hunk frowned. “By yourself? How long have you been here?”

“I am afraid it has been quite some time,” said the Balmeran, her smile just as warm despite the gravity of her words. “But it matters not. You are here now.”

“Um…” Hunk rubbed the back of his neck, no longer entirely sure of what was happening.

“I should apologize again,” said the Balmeran, her smile widening as she offered a clawed hand. “I have not introduced myself.”

“Well,” said Hunk, “neither have I, so don’t feel too bad about it. I’m Hunk.” He grabbed the Balmeran’s hand and shook it firmly.

“It is nice to meet you, Hunk,” said the Balmeran brightly. “I am Shay.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen.  
> It's necessary.  
> Trust me.  
> Sorry about the lack of Keith and Lance in this chapter, but I SWEAR it's necessary.
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/YouAreInAComa)   
>  [Discord](https://discord.gg/hrgP6yj)


	5. Yellow Potion

“Wh— _Shay_?”

Hunk yanked his hand back, eyes wide. There was always the possibility of there being more than one Shay—it wasn’t exactly an uncommon name—but more than one _Balmeran_ named Shay? In an _unreleased game_? That knocked the probability down a couple of digits.

And the worried, guilty look that flashed in Shay’s gleaming eyes seemed to confirm Hunk’s suspicions.

“You know your family thinks you’re _dead_ , right?”

Shay bowed her head, and the cone-like stone at the sides of her head reminded Hunk very suddenly of sad, drooping cat ears. He almost regretted what he said.

“Yes,” she admitted in a soft voice. “And, in the sake of fairness, they are not wrong.”

“Not—?” Hunk recoiled. “What— What do you mean they’re not wrong? Are you some kind of a ghost or—”

“We should take to the second floor,” said Shay solemnly, crouching down to reach for her discarded halberd. “It will not take long Weble to respawn. We will not wish to be here when he returns.”

Hunk grimaced, torn between wanting to press the matter and wanting to make sure he didn’t have to fight two giant, blue cockroaches in one day.

“Come,” said Shay, trudging across the stone floor and climbing to the short platform by the door. “I will explain everything once we have left this room.”

 

* * *

 

“Getting back in the saddle, eh?”

Lance nodded and bent low to the ground to stretch his legs. He wasn’t sure whether it would have any effect in the world of Altea, but it was better to be safe than sorry if he needed to run again. “It’s morning,” he explained. “Nine doboshes later. Two hours and fifteen minutes is more than a long enough break. Sun’s up, no freaky draugrs or possessed moose to ruin my day…” He stood up straight and stretched his arms over his head. “I’m going for it. And this time—” He let his arms fall to his sides with a soft _hup_ and then pointed at Coran in a “mark my words” gesture. “...I’m not coming back until I’ve got that spell.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Coran, leaning against the countertop. “You’ll find her. Don’t give up.”

A slow grin crossed Lance’s face. “Oh, she’s a _her_ , huh?” He crossed his arms proudly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Don’t get too excited, Casanova.” Coran smirked under his fiery mustache. “I said she was a girl. I never said she was humanoid. And in any case, she’s still an NPC. You don’t want to go around wooing bits of data hither and thither, do you?”

“Oh, come on,” said Lance, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “That doesn’t mean it wouldn’t still be fun to flirt a little. Haven’t you ever played a dating sim?”

“Can’t say I have,” said Coran, his smirk disappearing behind disapproval. “Not my cup of tea.”

“Well, of course you’d say that,” said Lance, his own smile fading as well. “You’re an NPC.”

“An NPC who could kick your butt if I wanted to,” warned Coran. “Healer or not, I’m still a solid level 20, and you’re only level 1.”

“Healer?” Lance furrowed his brow. “You’re a healer?”

“Of course I am,” said Coran, standing up straight. “What else would you expect from an innkeeper, a _master_ of _hospitality_?”

Lance forced an uncertain, lopsided grimace. “...Classless?”

“Well, you’d be wrong,” said Coran, pulling at his lapels as if he were tugging on suspenders instead. “Every sapient being in Altea has a class, be they one of the four starting classes or an advanced class. I’m a healer, the potion brewer you met is a mage… The King of Arus is a mage as well. Well, an advanced class in the mage pool of classes.”

“Huh…” Lance raised his eyebrows. “So, wait, how do you—”

“You can ask questions later,” said Coran, resting his hands on his hips. “When the sun sets. For now, you have a limited amount of time to find your teacher in those woods. Unless you want to run into those draugrs again.”

Lance winced. “No thanks. Oh, but before I go…”

“Hm?”

Lance reached behind his neck and tugged at the chain of his new necklace, slipping it out from under his doublet and separating the clasp. “Do you mind telling me what this is?”

Coran frowned and reached behind the necklace, bringing the pendant closer to his eyes with a careful hand. “I’m… I’m not sure,” he admitted after a moment of scrutiny. “I’ve never seen anything like it. But if it’s in the game, it’ll be in a book somewhere. I’ll do the research while you hunt for your teacher.”

“You don’t mind?” asked Lance, genuinely surprised.

“Not at all,” said Coran, the pendant swinging back and forth on its chain when he released it. “What else am I going to do? Help new players?” He chuckled.

A small, genuinely grateful smile tugged at Lance’s lips. “Thanks, Coran.” He pulled the necklace back around his neck. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Well, of course I am,” said Coran proudly. “Healer, lifesaver… The same thing, really.”

Lance grinned and, necklace safely clasped once more, he took a step toward the door. “All right, I’m off.”

“Good luck,” called Coran. “Oh, and if you can, pop in on the seamstress and get a proper mage outfit on your way back. I’ll make it worth your while!”

 

* * *

 

It was strange, walking leisurely through the forest when Lance knew that he’d been running for his life the last time he’d seen it. It was hard to be afraid of the flora and fauna in daytime, however. Especially considering it looked completely different from the way it had looked at night.

The trees were all in the same places, but they were different species. Even the hawthorn plant Lance had gotten stuck in was replaced by a pleasant broom shrub. It seemed the entire forest became more deadly after the sun went down.

“It’s like the foresty equivalent of a werewolf,” mused Lance, pausing to rest his hand on a harmless oak tree. “Like some kind of...wereforest. Or...lycanwoods.”

Something caught Lance’s eye from behind the tree. He leaned around the trunk, eyebrow cocked.

“What the cheese…?”

There was a new ash pile. That made sense, in a way. It was standing where the stranger had saved Lance the in-game day—quintants, Coran called them—before, and there had been a lot of fire in that battle. It was a great deal more ash than Lance would have expected, though, and Lance would have made a note of that to Shiro if not for one thing that made it seem intentional: a cypress seedling was beginning to grow from the center of the pile, just like with all the other piles.

And curled around that seedling, fast asleep in the ash, was the same pinkish mouse Lance had seen the last time he visited the forest. He’d almost forgotten about her, considering what had happened right afterward, but…

Judging by the sound of her voice, she was a girl. And she definitely wasn’t humanoid.

Warily, Lance crept forward and knelt by the ash pile, and with a curious finger, he reached out and poked the mouse’s side.

The mouse lifted her head and blinked blearily, her mouse twitching up a storm.

“Um, hi?” said Lance uneasily.

The mouse’s ears lifted and she turned her head to face Lance properly.

“Oh!” she said, standing on her hind legs and brushing the ash from her fur with her tiny hands. “Good morning! Sorry, I was— I knew you were coming, but—”

“Don’t sweat it,” said Lance, perching leisurely on the balls of his feet, resting his wrists on his knees. “I’m not gonna ask you not to sleep.”

The mouse cleared her throat and stood up straighter, clasping her paws in front of her stomach.

“Welcome, Mage, to the path of understanding. My name is Chuchule, and it will be my honor to teach you your first spell.”

She bowed politely, touching her ground with her paws before standing up straight again.

Lance raised his eyebrows and averted his eyes briefly, thinking.

“...My _first_ spell?”

“Yes.”

“So... _just_ my first spell.”

“That’s right.”

Lance took a deep breath and sighed in disappointment. “So after you, I’m on my own?”

“Not entirely,” said Chuchule, her tail flicking to one side. “There are three other mice after me, and each one will teach you about a certain kind of magic. We are your starting points. That’s all. Does that make sense?”

“Not really,” admitted Lance, dropping to the dirty forest floor.

“Hmm…” Chuchule walked to the edge of the ash pile on all fours before settling herself in front of Lance’s crossed ankles. “Let’s put it this way: A teacher can teach you how to read, but once you know how to read, it isn’t up to that teacher to teach you how to interpret the stories you’ll read when you’re older. And another teacher can teach you how to read a map, but it’s up to you to memorize the way to your favorite restaurant. You see?”

“Sort of,” said Lance. “So what you’re saying is that you’ll teach me how to use magic in at least one way, and it’s up to me to figure out what I do with that knowledge? Like you could teach me how to move things with my mind, but it’s up to me to, like, use it to make myself fly or whatever.”

“Something like that,” said Chuchule, standing on her hind legs again. “As you grow and gain experience, and not just the quantified kind, then you’ll learn how to use your magic in different ways.”

“Okay,” said Lance, leaning forward. “What do I have to do?”

“Well,” said Chuchule, “before you can actually learn your spell, I’ll need you to bring me some items.”

 

* * *

 

Lance was quick to learn that his bow was best suited for stealth. If he climbed up the trunk of a tree and perched in its branches, he could land an arrow in a moose from a great distance without having to worry about being trampled. And the more Lance practiced, the more Lance realized exactly how good he was with his bow. As long as he could see a moose, he could hit it. Handy, considering the moose were capable of ramming the tree he was in and knocking him out. The more time Lance had, the more arrows he could land, and the less of an obstacle those moose were.

And that was important, because Lance needed five sets of moose antlers for his first spell.

Lance’s most recent kill disappeared in a puff of smoke and Lance scaled back down the tree to grab the drop it had left behind.

“Wool again,” grumbled Lance, folding the pink fluff and stuffing it into his bag. He was very quickly running out of room in his inventory thanks to the twenty-eight Wools he’d earned. “And only two Antlers. Either the drop rate is crap or I just have rotten luck.”

He sent his bag a disapproving scowl, as if it were the reason it was so full of wool.

“Wonder if I can sell this somewhere…”

 

* * *

 

The market wasn’t too far from the edge of the woods. It didn’t take too long to find the cobblestone path once Lance passed the flag posts, and from there, Lance walked until the shops came into view.

Though there were a few places Lance could think of that might have needed wool, Lance’s first instinct was to try the seamstress.

A tiny series of bells chimed from under the door handle as Lance pushed his way inside.

“Back already?” asked a feminine voice from behind the counter. “I would have thought— Oh!”

Another pinkish, horned, lizard-like creature popped her head over the countertop and carefully crawled her way up. She kneeled on top of the counter, tucking her blue-and-yellow dress under her knees and straightening her green capelet before sending Lance a bright smile.

“Sorry about that. I thought you were someone else. What can I help you with?”

“A couple of things,” said Lance, opening his bag. “I want to buy some mage clothes, but before that, how much would you buy wool for?”

“Three-hundred gold per pound.”

Lance had already pulled his first lump of wool out of his bag when the shopkeeper’s words slowly wormed their way into his brain.

“...I’m sorry, how much?”

 

* * *

 

“Hey! How’s my favorite customer?”

Keith managed a small smile for the potion seller’s sake. “Fine. How’s the ladle treating you?”

“It’s great!” said the Arusian. “I can’t think of a handier tool. I haven’t sold any love potions with it yet, but I did get to try it out on some Bytor Water a quintant ago. The rubies stopped the frost in its tracks. My hands didn’t even get cold.”

“Yeah?” Keith slid his bag off from around his shoulders. “Who came in for Bytor Water? The innkeeper again?”

“Not exactly,” said the potion seller, scooting forward until his tiny, peach-colored feet dangled over the edge of the counter. “It was someone new. A thief, I think, judging by his clothing. But until something goes missing, I’ve got no reason to expect he’ll steal from my stores. Coran seems to trust him, at least.”

Keith’s brow furrowed. “I saw someone in the woods last night—”

“What were you doing in the woods at night?” asked the potion seller, his already-deep voice deepening further in his disapproval. “I know you can take care of yourself, but that’s still no reason to put yourself at risk.”

Keith shook his head. “That doesn’t matter,” he said firmly. “What matters is that I saw someone _else_ in the woods last night. Someone who didn’t know better than to go near the shrines after dark.”

“Was he in thief attire?” asked the shopkeeper.

Keith narrowed his eyes at a blank spot on the countertop, thinking back. “It was too dark to tell. But he was wielding a bow.”

“That’s a bit cumbersome for a thief,” said the potion seller, sounding borderline amused.

Keith frowned. “But beginner gear can be used by any class. If they’re a thief who likes ranged attacks or a mage who wanted to be stealthy…”

“I’m guessing you didn’t get a look at his face.”

Keith shook his head. “I could tell that they were about my height, though. Skinny, probably male. Either human or True Altean. Short hair.”

“That sounds like the guy I talked to,” said the shopkeeper.

Keith lifted his head. “You said he was in thief attire?”

The shopkeeper nodded. “Arusian blue. He was a human, too. A little bit darker than—”

“Damn it.” Keith glared at the floor. Humans weren’t supposed to be native to Altea. Only a few had been coded in. If there was a human, especially one in Arusian colors, then that could only mean one thing.

Shiro had started playtesting.

Keith was running out of time fast.

“Everything all right?”

Keith spared a glance toward the shopkeeper.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Everything’s fine. But I’m going to need some stealth potions.”

 

* * *

 

“Another Wooly Moose down, another 300 gold.” Lance’s feet hit the forest floor and he knelt down to pick up the pink fluff he’d earned. “That makes twenty-nine. If I can just get one more, I’ll have a full inventory.” He grinned and began to scan the forest for his next kill. “Then I’ll be rolling in it. Shopping spree, here I come— What the...?”

He spotted another Wooly Moose just in time to watch it drop dead out of nowhere. Its item drop—a pair of antlers—appeared a moment later and wobbled briefly before falling onto its side.

“Okay, that’s...not normal.”

Lance began to walk warily toward the fallen pair of antlers—he’d almost forgotten about the spell he was supposed to be grinding for in his eagerness to sell as much wool as possible, and that was the last set he needed—when the antlers vanished right before Lance’s eyes.

Lance reeled back, grimacing, his hands coiled against his chest.

“H-Hello?”

There was no response. Not even a rustle of leaves. The forest was utterly silent.

Until another moose collapsed with an audible death cry.

Lance whipped around, blue eyes darting around the forest, hastily searching for whatever creature had just been slain where it stood.

He didn’t find it.

What he did find was another living moose.

A living moose that lived for about five seconds.

The second it hit the ground, Lance screamed just as much in outrage as in real fear.

“I need one more wool and one more set of antlers!” he screeched, stomping his foot. “That’s it! At least give me the antlers! I knew this forest was haunted, but come on! That’s only supposed to be at night!”

He took a deep, shaky breath and turned around.

“Just a game,” he mumbled. “Just a game, just a game, not a real ghost… This isn’t even a horror game. It’s cool.”

He closed his eyes, took another deep breath, and reached for his bow.

If there was a ghost out and about in a game, stealing all of Lance’s kills, then it was an enemy. It had an HP bar. Lance doubted it was immortal.

With a slow, steady hand, he nocked an arrow, and he listened. Just listened. For anything. A rustle. Another death cry. Anything.

And he heard it. The muffled, wet thud of a knife striking flesh, something Lance was familiar with from years of playing horror games.

Before the moose even cried out, Lance whipped around loosed his arrow. He opened his eyes just in time to see the arrow strike the Wooly Moose just behind his front leg.

“Hahah! Gotcha, Sucker!”

Not quite what Lance was aiming for, but he still wasn’t quite used to how real everything felt in _Shattering of Altea_ just yet. If he were playing a game he was more familiar with, he could have gotten a clean strike through both lungs.

And if he were playing a game he was more familiar with, he would have probably known what was going on when the ground began to shake.

A word fell from Lance’s lips. One he’d heard only once before thanks to Coran.

“Quiznak…”

 

* * *

 

“So...just like that?” asked Hunk, watching Shay scale a shoulder-high rock ledge. “All because you ticked off some Galra jerk?”

“That one did not want me around,” said Shay, turning around at the top of the ledge, melancholy in her eyes from where she loomed over Hunk. “I was...willful. Defiant. Once I spoke out against the Galra Empire, I agreed to my own death. That Galra drew a weapon, I drew my own. We fought, but...he bested me.” She kneeled and reached over the edge, a helpful hand outstretched. “When one of Altea is defeated, either one will appear in one’s own home, or one will disappear entirely, depending on one’s programming. In my case, neither happened. I awoke all alone in one of the caves, and I had lost my role. No longer was I constricted to a purpose, to the character I was meant to play. It was as if I was no longer mere data, but a person, just as you are.”

Hunk, brow furrowed, grasped Shay’s hand between both of his own. “You’re still just ones and zeroes, though, right? So…what _are_ you?”

Shay squeezed Hunk’s hand, but didn’t pull. Her gaze fell to the stone she crouched on, hesitant, uncertain. She pursed her lips for a moment, stone pressing against stone as if she was a statue in motion, only opening again to take a deep mournful breath.

Her eyes met Hunk’s again, and she opened her mouth to answer.

 

* * *

 

Keith had been watching for some time.

He wasn’t even sure why he was still watching. The new player wasn’t doing much. Just hunting Wooly Moose, probably for the beginner Mage spell. He was harmless. Just as much to himself as he was to the world. Keith could have been doing something much more productive. Farming for Crows’ Eggs, mining ore for better armor… And yet, he was watching someone he didn’t know killing low-level enemies.

Someone who was new. Someone who could leave at any time. Someone who was only in danger because he was ignorant, not because he was trapped in the same world as the Galra.

And he was just...playing a game.

It was so frustrating. There was a huge part of Keith that wanted so badly to dispel the effects of his stealth potion, to climb up the tree after the new player and grab him by the shoulders and tell him exactly how dangerous it was to be in Altea. Every instinct written into him was itching to do exactly that, to run out and warn him.

But if the new player was a playtester, that meant he knew Shiro.

And if he told Shiro about someone he met in Arus...someone who fit Keith’s description…

“That makes twenty-nine,” said the new player, drawing Keith from his contemplation.

He was talking to himself.

Keith crossed his arms and leaned against the tree he was standing next to. He was guilty of talking to himself, too, but that was just because he got lonely. It was hard not to be when his only company was Red and the occasional shopkeeper. He wondered whether the new player was lonely, playing the game by himself, probably the only proper player in all of Arus.

But there was more to what he said than that.

Twenty-nine.

Twenty-nine what? Was that how many Wooly Moose he’d defeated or how many Wools he had in his inventory?

Judging by the cheeky grin on his face as he deposited the Wool in his bag and the comment he made about “rolling in it,” Keith had to assume it was the latter.

 _How many moose has he killed?_ Keith narrowed his eyes. _I should have been counting._

The new player looked up and began to search the forest, probably for his next kill.

If his kill streak was anywhere near fifty, he was about to run into some serious trouble.

For the briefest of moments, Keith considered letting the new player fumble his way into disaster, letting him learn the hard way what happened when he killed fifty of the same creature in a row.

But Keith had the Stealth Potions for a reason. To keep the new player safe. And if something went wrong when he lost all his HP, something the Galra had caused either on purpose or inadvertently…

Keith couldn’t take the chance.

He spurred himself into action.

He darted across the clearing to the first Wooly Moose he saw, knife in one hand, back-up Stealth Potion in the other, trusting the effects of the enchantment running through his body to keep his feet mostly silent.

Wooly Moose were no longer a threat to Keith. They hadn’t been in at least fifty levels. When he cut into the moose, it went down in an instant, leaving Keith free to grab its drop and go after the next.

It went down.

So did the one after it.

Keith knew he couldn’t keep fighting the moose forever; whichever of them got the streak of fifty didn’t matter when the point was to avoid the kill streak altogether. But he didn’t have to keep it up forever. Just until the new player got tired of not finding any game or until night fell, whichever came first.

Keith darted after the next moose and struck it with his knife.

To Keith’s surprise, the low-leveled, early-game enemy didn’t go down.

Its HP bar appeared over its head, a mere sliver of the red remaining.

Keith noticed too late the Juniberry hanging from its lips.

Too late because before he had the chance to so much as yank his knife out of the moose’s neck for another attack, an arrow pierced its side.

Wide-eyed, Keith whipped around to see the new player, bow drawn, a smarmy grin on his lips.

“Gotcha, Sucker.”

The ground shook for only a moment, just long enough to wipe the smirk from the new player’s face and to send sparks of tension rippling across Keith’s skin.

A low whistle of wind that Keith heard but didn’t feel blew across the forest.

“Oh, no,” breathed Keith, looking out toward the west, then peering at the new player through the corner of his eye.

He looked terrified, and rightfully so. Drazil was still difficult for Keith to handle, even at his level, with a _mount_. The new player was going to get crushed in seconds.

Unless Keith did something.

He opened his bag and tossed his backup stealth potion into it without a thought, knowing that it wouldn’t break.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” he muttered, searching hastily through the contents of his bag.

He spared a look over his shoulder.

Drazil’s shadow was already darkening the trees to the west. If Keith had time to climb a hill, he would probably be able to see it.

With a sharp, terrified exhale, Keith turned back to his bag, pulling out potion after potion.

He had to have at least _one_. He _always_ had at least one. They were too handy not to keep.

A yellow glow peeked through the contents of Keith’s bag from the very bottom, and he dove his hand in deep to pull it out.

A Yellow Potion.

He looked toward the new player and grimaced. So much for stealth.

“One more second,” he mumbled, reaching hastily into his bag for the antlers he’d earned from the first Wooly Moose he’d killed.

Taking advantage of the new player’s distraction, Keith used his last seconds of stealth to shove a set of antlers into the new player’s bag without being noticed.

Then, with a heavy breath, Keith let go of his buff.

“ _Dispel_.”

Even with the incoming threat of Drazil on the horizon, the new player noticed Keith instantly. He whipped around, eyes wide, jaw dropped.

“You!” he accused much faster than Keith was expecting. “You’re the guy who’s been stealing my kills!”

“I’m _what_?” Keith shook his head. “You can’t be serious. There’s a boss after us and you’re worried about _that_?”

“Yes!” screeched the new player, gesticulating wildly, throwing his hands out to the sides of his head, fingers splayed. “Are you _kidding me_? That’s, like, rule number one of MMO etiquette! If someone’s farming for items somewhere, you either group them or go somewhere else!”

Keith growled, his free hand balling into a fist. “Do you want to die?!”

“Is that a threat?” demanded the new player. “Are you _threatening me_?”

“No,” growled Keith. “I’m not—”

Before he could finish his sentence, a wide beam of destructive green light struck the earth, passing through the trees like a ghost but turning every Moon Rabbit it hit to dust.

“That is!” said Keith hurriedly, grabbing the new player by the arm and dragging him out of the way. Drazil’s beam passed right past them without hitting them, but it was a very near miss.

Keith whipped around and pushed the potion toward the new player. “Take this!” he ordered, already breathless.

The new player narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Keith didn’t understand how he still could be after he’d just saved the new player from being torn apart by the beam that nearly hit them, even when he explained it.

“I’m not taking anything from you! How do I know that’s not poison?!”

“Do you want to live or not?!” demanded Keith, shoving the bottle at the new player again. “Take it—” Another beam hit the earth and was steadily drifting toward them. “—before I smash it into your face!”

The new player spared a look toward the quickly-approaching beam.

“Fine,” he said, snatching the bottle out of Keith’s hand. “But this better not kill me.”

He took a drink of the liquid, glowed briefly yellow, then disappeared.

Keith barely had time to jump out of the way of the beam before it hit him.

He’d just spent far too long trying to save someone who clearly didn’t want to be saved, and now he had to deal with Drazil himself.

“Whatever,” he hissed, reaching hastily for the necklace hidden under his armor. “I’ve done this before. I can do it again.”

 

* * *

 

Lance turned in place, his bed squeaking in protest underneath his feet.

“Oh, come on—” he grumbled, aggravated. “That jackass _totally_ killed me, I _knew_ — Wait.”

He looked down at himself, at the clothes he was still wearing.

He looked in his bag. All of his items were still there. Including one more pair of antlers than he thought he’d had.

He had enough for the spell.

And…

“He didn’t kill me.” Lance furrowed his brow. “Huh. Then...what, did that potion just sent me back to the inn, or—?”

A stab of annoyance plucked at Lance’s brain.

“That jackass! I’m totally missing out on an awesome boss fight!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance: "Mommy, what are 'priorities'?"
> 
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	6. Mana

Lance ran down the stairs with all the force and volume of a stampede of buffalo.

“Coran!” he called out at the top of his lungs. “Coran, where the hell—”

“Lance?” Coran appeared around the corner, wide-eyed. “Lance, did you die—? Oh, no, you still have your clothing. What happened?”

“Some jackass in the forest made me take a potion!” snapped Lance skipping steps to reach Coran in seconds. “He just showed up all smug and totally stole my kills and _then—_ ” Lance ran his hands frantically through his hair. “The ground started shaking and I got this weird pop-up that just said ‘GUARDIAN’ and lasers started shooting down from the sky and—”

“What did this ‘jackass’ look like?” asked Coran, raising an eyebrow. “Dark hair? Red armor, perhaps?”

“Yes,” said Lance, pointing into Coran’s face. “And he had a mullet!”

“Ah,” said Coran, smirking. “I thought so. That’s not a jackass. That’s Keith.”

“Keith?!” choked Lance in disbelief. “Of _course_. Of _course_ his name is _Keith_. That’s the least ‘fantasy’ name I’ve ever— Who the heck is _Keith_?!”

 

* * *

 

The second the crimson scale around Keith’s neck caught the light, it began to sparkle. Not from the light itself, but from the magic properties of the scale.

The green laser was already dragging across the ground again, as if magnetized toward Keith. Apparently, it didn’t matter who got the kill streak; as long as Drazil was summoned, it didn’t want anyone in its forest. Either that, or it could tell that Keith had pulled the new player out of the way of its laser and it didn’t care for that.

Either way, Keith was in trouble. As long as he was on the ground, he was defenseless. He had no choice but to evade until help arrived.

He picked a direction and ran, darting around trees while the laser moved right through them. For every bush he was forced to hop, the laser gained a few inches on him. For every boulder he skirted, the laser gained a few more. The distance between Keith’s back and the laser dwindled more and more with every second that passed. The ground grew warmer. He felt the heat of the plasma on the back of his neck. He began to sweat.

And then she arrived, a blur of red rushing parallel to Keith’s path, far too fast for his eyes to follow.

Sparing no more than a glance over his shoulder, toward the blinding green at his back, Keith ran closer to the blur of red. He reached out over the red blur, to the white blur attached to it, and he gripped tight, prompting his stamina gauge to appear.

His hand tangled in a fistful of white hair and he gripped tight. His shoulder nearly popped out of socket by the force that yanked Keith off the ground, but he didn’t let that slow him down. He just reached up with his free hand, held tight onto the mane with both hands, and, with a great deal of effort, swung his leg over the lean, scaly back he was holding so tightly onto. He straddled it and held on tight with his knees, bracing himself an instant before he was pulled up, out of the trees, through the canopy of the treetops, and into the blue, cloudy sky.

“Good girl, Red,” breathed Keith, sighing in relief as his stamina bar disappeared. The battle was far from over, but at least, with the help of a dragon, it would be a fair fight.

He lifted his head as his mount slowed and peered around her to the goliath of an enemy that watched him menacingly from a distance, its two acid green eyes always shifting, always watching, just inches above its terrifying underbite with far too many razor-sharp teeth. As an actual weapon, those teeth were pointless, as Drazil was a ranged attacker, but as an intimidation tactic, Keith could think of very few more effective possibilities.

“Okay,” said Keith, slowly climbing to his feet on Red’s back, the wind tossing his hair around as it rushed past his ears. “We’re done this before. We’re less prepared this time around, but we’re stronger than last time. We can do this. No problem, right?”

A low rumble crawled up Keith’s legs and kept crawling up and up until it came to rest in his head as a rush of confidence and understanding.

“All right,” said Keith. “I’m coming up to your head. Don’t drop me, but don’t get hit, either. Okay?”

Another rumble.

Keith smirked.

They had this.

Red began to fly, curving around Drazil in patterns unpredictable to anyone but Keith. The connection he’d formed with Red had grown strong enough during the months they’d spent together, strong enough that Keith swore that their minds were one and the same. Walking across her back was like a dance. He knew when to take short, quick steps on the tips of his toes and when to take long strides, when to plant his feet on Red’s back and ride her like a surfboard, when to slide down the smooth slope of her ever-twisting back like he was skating across a hardwood floor in socks. He knew how to turn his body to keep his balance, when and how to shift his weight. He was more graceful on Red than he ever was on solid ground, to the point where it looked less like simply walking across and more like a choreographed dance.

But it wasn’t choreographed at all. He just trusted Red, and he knew that she trusted him.

When one of Drazil’s lasers came too close to Keith’s head, rather than ducking, Keith allowed Red to arch her spine down so that he slid out of harm’s way.

It was effortless, easy, and when Keith reached Red’s neck, his stamina bar was still completely full. He lowered himself and leaned forward, hands tangling in Red’s flowing, white mane yet again, this time to get a strong grip for what was coming.

Drazil’s annelid arms were outstretched, each of the green eyes that lined the insides sending zig-zagging lasers that couldn’t keep up with all of Red’s skillful twisting and coiling.

“You know what to do,” said Keith under his breath, his voice inaudible in the fierce wind that whipped all around them. But Red didn’t need to hear him to understand him.

She turned onto her side and began to drop toward the earth like a stone, as if she somehow lost the ability to fly, but every move was purposeful, calculated, and the second she was parallel to Drazil’s outstretched arms, she darted forward, still on her side, and opened her fearsome maw to release a wide spray of billowing fire.

Each Harlequin eye on Drazil’s body was meant for creating heat, but not withstanding it. When Red’s fire met the eyes, they boiled and bubbled and swelled until Red’s jagged claws dragged harshly across them, bursting them like blisters.

When Red passed over Drazil’s chest, she began to twist her body, and Keith let go of the tight grip he had on Red’s neck and mane. When she flipped upside-down, he slid down easily and slipped from her to Drazil’s chest, landing clumsily just above its primary eye. Keith winced when his fingernails scratched down Drazil’s armored front, bending painfully and removing ２ ＨＰ from his health bar. He wasn’t nearly as steady standing on the metallic lip above Drazil’s eye as he was on Red’s back, but he didn’t need to stay long. Just long enough.

He reached for his waist and unsheathed his knife before taking a step back and letting himself fall. Just as he passed in front of the enormous eye, he stabbed it with all his strength, piercing the cornea and tearing it open as he fell like a pirate shredding a sail with his cutlass.

When Keith reached the bottom of the eye, his knife hit Drazil’s armor and bounced off, sending Keith flying backward.

When he looked down, Red was already there.

He landed on her back, his knees taking the brunt of the impact, and he looked up again, petting Red’s scales in appreciation as he inspected the state of Drazil’s HP. Red had already gotten all of the eyes on Drazil’s other arm, rendering it incapable of moving on to its second stage.

Less than a sixteenth of its HP remained.

Keith tangled one hand in Red’s mane, the other still gripping his knife.

Warriors were not magic users. They could not use ranged, offensive magic. They could not heal. They could not transform. But they did still have a mana gauge, and it was meant to be used.

Keith took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, watching Drazil slowly wobble to its full height. Under his breath, he whispered two quiet words.

“ _Mighty Roar_.”

His vision was obscured by almost every single aspect of his character profile. Mana. HP. His entire stat screen, which showed everything, ranging from defense to spirituality to strength.

He didn’t need to look to know that his defense stat was steadily decreasing or that the blue in his unimpressive mana bar was shrinking. Or that his strength stat was skyrocketing.

Nor did he need to spare a glance at the transparent alert that appeared right in front of his face.

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｂｕｆｆ/Ｄｅｂｕｆｆ： Ｍｉｇｈｔｙ Ｒｏａｒ

Ｅｆｆｅｃｔ： Ｍａｓｓｉｖｅ Ｓｔｒｅｎｇｔｈ Ｉｎｃｒｅａｓｅ，

Ｍａｓｓｉｖｅ Ｄｅｆｅｎｓｅ Ｄｅｃｒｅａｓｅ

╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

Mighty Roar.

More of a status than a spell.

It caused a Warrior’s defense to plummet to the point where even armor was pointless, but for every defense point they lost, they gained three points toward strength, up until their defense hit zero, where it reacted like a spring, increasing defense and decreasing strength until all of the user’s stats were back to normal. It turned a Warrior from a Tank into a Glass Cannon. It was risky in the best of situations and absolutely stupid to try to attempt it without a Healer or even a Mage on duty, but in the face of the worst the universe had to offer, Keith found that what most people would call “stupid” was exactly what he needed.

Drazil could probably three-hit him either way. It was designed to be nearly impossible to beat. It was supposed to be a _punishment_. Considering how hard Drazil hit, Keith was going to be avoiding him at all costs regardless. Trading those two extra hits wouldn’t mean much if it decreased the number of chances Drazil had to hit him in the first place.

One of Drazil’s eerie roaming eyes, one of the only two remaining, targeted Keith and Red, and Red shot forward, wasting no time.

The laser fired, as predicted, but Red twisted out of the way, her long body curling like a dancer’s ribbon in wide, evasive circles.

Keith spared a glance at his defense stat.

３０

２９

２８

They just had to avoid the blasts until that number dwindled to ０. It was fine. Easy. There were only two lasers, and they were capable of avoiding the beams when all nineteen of its eyes were armed. Drazil was desperate by this point, but so were Keith and Red.

２３

２２

２１

Keith gripped his knife tight in his right hand, the left holding tight onto Red’s mane. If he had the Mana to spare, he could have extended his attack range, and he’d feel a lot more comfortable, but he could make do as long as they kept avoiding Drazil’s lasers.

１５

１４

１３

Red was forced to make a sharp turn when Drazil predicted where she was about to fly, forcing herself and Keith to dart downward, to wind close around Drazil’s waist. Its eyes were fast, but its head was sluggish. As long as they stayed so close to its body, it would have to tilt its head down to be able to hit them, and it wouldn’t be able to keep up with their constant winding.

１０

９

８

“Okay,” said Keith, leaning in closer to Red’s ear, though he knew it didn’t make a difference. “Take me up.”

Red turned on a dime and shot directly up behind Drazil’s back, away from the tilt of his head.

６

Red passed behind Drazil’s head just as he finished lifting it.

５

Keith released Red’s mane and kicked off from her back, knife in hand.

４

Drazil’s eye locked onto Keith and fired a beam in his direction.

３

Keith angled himself forward, leaning away from the beam just above him. He could feel its heat against the back of his neck.

２

The beam stopped.

１

Keith raised his knife over his head.

０

With the entire force of his jump, of his maxed out strength, Keith plunged his knife into the back of Drazil’s neck, burying the entire length of its blade into the white, rubbery flesh that covered Drazil’s spine and pushing deeper, deeper, until his knife scraped against the bone.

And Keith lifted his head to watch what was left of Drazil’s ＨＰ dwindle to ０.

Drazil began to glow, and Keith had to run off the back of Drazil’s shoulders before it burst. He jumped off the back of its round chest armor, spread his arms wide to slow his descent, and waited.

Mere seconds passed before Red darted beneath him, flipping onto her back to catch him on her soft underside, trapping Keith safely in her clawed arms.

By the time Drazil burst into a great and dazzling light, Keith and Red were far, far away.

Keith didn’t even spare Drazil’s death animation a glance.

He’d seen it before. He had no need to see it again.

 

* * *

 

Lance watched, wide-eyed, jaw dropped, as the enormous white flash lit up the early evening sky like fireworks, and judging by the number of people standing outside their doors and watching just like Lance was, that was exactly how Arus treated it. Like fireworks.

“Coran, what _is_ that?” asked Lance, gripping the door frame.

“That’s Drazil,” said Coran, crossing his arms next to Lance, sharing the doorway with him. “Or what’s left of him. Every boss that’s defeated leaves behind a flare that lasts either for about two vargas or until the boss respawns, whichever comes first. The flare does make for some concrete benefits, stuff like lighting up dark pathways and driving away creatures that only spawn in dark places, but it’s also easy on the eyes. Don’t you think so?”

“Yeah, real pretty,” said Lance dismissively. “So...Keith caused that?”

“I’d assume so,” said Coran, shrugging. “If you angered Drazil and Keith saved you, then—”

“Okay, whoa,” said Lance, holding up a hand by Coran’s face. “Keith did not save me. All he did was get in my way.”

“Got in your way?” asked Coran, cocking an eyebrow and unfolding his arms to rest one hand on his hip. “Did he? Because all I’m gathering from your explanation is that you would have been sent back here either way, and he just made sure you had all of your belongings when you returned.”

“Psh.” Lance rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I could have taken him.”

“Oh, I’m sure Drazil was just quaking in his boots at the sight of a Level 8 Mage,” said Coran, his mustache curling into his smirk. “A Level 8 Mage with no magic, a normal bow, and armor not even suited for his class.”

“I still could have taken him,” said Lance, crossing his arms. “I’ve got a bow with unlimited arrows. I could hide behind a tree and wail on him until he passes out. Not exactly huge DPS, but I could still do it. It would just take me a while.”

“Drazil can’t harm any part of the forest,” said Coran, a smug twinkle in his eye. “Rocks, trees, animals… They all belong to the forest. There’s nothing for you to hide behind. The lasers go right through.”

“That—” Lance’s expression fell. “...would have been more a problem, okay, yeah, I see your point.”

“Thought you might.”

“But that Keith guy’s still a jerk,” said Lance, pointing into Coran’s face. “And I’m going to tell him off.”

“You won’t find him,” said Coran, batting Lance’s hand down. “He’s like a mysterious, masked hero. There in the tick of time and gone before you can blink. The only ones who know him at all are the shopkeepers he buys his wares from. Nobody knows where he goes when he’s not arming himself for his next great adventure. To anyone else, he’s as good as myth.”

“Nice story,” said Lance, rolling his eyes again and setting off down the path, away from the inn, walking backward so that his eyes were still trained on Coran. “People aren’t fairy tales, Coran! He’s not Batman or Zorro. He’s still out there, being a jerk, with his jerky ways and jerky red armor and jerky potions. And I’m gonna find him and give him a piece of my mind.”

He whipped around and stormed down the path.

“Come back in two vargas!” called Coran. “Don’t want you dealing with the Draugrs again!”

Lance raised a hand in half-hearted compliance, but didn’t bother turning around.

He was a man on a mission.

 

* * *

 

“What I don’t understand is why you don’t just tell your family you’re okay,” said Hunk, watching his walking stick as it rose and fell with every step he took behind Shay. “I mean… They’re… They miss you, you know?”

Shay sighed, and Hunk lifted his head to find that she’d stopped.

“Those ones… They are just as missed as I am. But were they to know of my return, they would surely have me stopped.”

“Stopped?”

Shay turned, revealing the sadness in her gleaming eyes. “From exploring,” she explained. “These many months since my initial reinvention as one of Balmera have been filled with adventure. Though my family knew not, I often would climb through the tunnels until I could climb no further. They knew nothing of how high my level was, how many times I had defeated Weble or these many other bosses you will see. Within only weeks had I learned to reach the fourth floor in less than four vargas. And once a movement, sometimes more, I would climb to that point, where I could stand and close my eyes and dream of what the sky was like.”

She sighed, and the pointed, ear-like stones at the sides of her head seemed to droop. “When I was defeated by the Galra, I thought it a blessing. No more was there a barrier at the fourth floor. My keys had been lost when I was defeated, but I thought it only a matter of challenging Weble once more. I… I was wrong. Time and time again did I slay Weble, and yet no key was dropped.”

“Why not?” asked Hunk. “Did you just have bad luck, or…?”

“I know not,” admitted Shay, holding her halberd closer as if it comforted her. “I knew only that returning home was not an option. Not when I was closer to the sky than I had been in all memory.”

“So, what, you just...stayed in that room?” Hunk raised an eyebrow. “By yourself?”

“There are ledges overhead,” said Shay, the smallest of smiles tugging at her olive green lips. “I would sleep there and feed on smaller monsters to survive.”

“Ohhhhh.” Hunk laughed faintly. “Okay, so that’s why I didn’t see any monsters on the way up to you. Gotcha. But…” He ran a hand through his dark bangs, pushing them back from his headband. “I’m sorry, how long were you in there?”

“I decided against keeping track.” Shay turned away from Hunk. “I knew it would torment me, the knowing. Waiting forever was preferable to returning home, but there was no need to know the exact number of quintants. Besides…” She smiled over her shoulder. “That is the past. Thanks to you, we have the key to the second floor, which means that not only am I making progress, but I have a friend.”

Hunk’s gut twisted and fluttered.

_Friend_.

He made a _friend_.

That was the last thing Hunk was expecting when he agreed to playtest Shiro’s game, but he wasn’t complaining, that was for sure.

Shay’s smile widened, tightening the knot in Hunk’s stomach. “Come,” she said, all of her prior melancholy gone. “There is much I wish to show you.”

 

* * *

 

Lance stomped through the woods, shoulders hunched, smacking branches and bushes aside with the limbs of his bow.

The light from the flare was gorgeous, and Lance might have stopped to appreciate it if his heart wasn’t set on finding Keith.

“ _Keith_ ,” Lance grumbled, smacking a bush with his bow. “Stupid name for a fantasy character. What the heck kind of a place is Arus, anyway? The kind of a place where you can meet one guy named Coran and another guy named Keith, apparently. Stupid…”

Glittering flakes of red and white and green fluttered down from above, weaving through the leaves and vanishing as they hit the ground. It would almost look Christmassy if the green was the right shade.

“Appearing out of nowhere and banishing me miles away… I thought it was either gonna be a buff or poison, but _no…_ Frikkin’ _wormhole_ in a _bottle_. I almost wish it was the poison.”

Lance stepped over a branch and waved one of the glittering flakes away from his face. They were pretty, but he was almost as angry at them as he was at Keith. They were only there because of him.

“I know you’re out there!” screeched Lance, pointing his bow at absolutely nothing. “You can’t run from me! I’m going to find you!”

“Are you looking for Keith?”

“Augh!” Lance whipped around and stumbled backward, tripping over his own ankle and landing hard on his rear. “Ow! What the—?!”

A tiny laugh like the tinkling of bells reached Lance’s ear, and he lowered his gaze to find the same mouse from earlier, the one he had been trying to learn his first spell from before he’d gotten side-tracked with money-making and, well, Keith.

“You won’t find him,” said Chuchule. “No one ever does, no matter how hard they look. If Keith doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be.”

Lance scoffed and leaned back on his elbows. “You’re just as bad as Coran. He’s a guy, not a superhero. A guy named _Keith_.” He rolled his eyes. Of all the stupid names in the world—

“It’s best you forget him for now,” said Chuchule. “After all, you have a spell to learn, don’t you?”

“I can’t.” Lance sat up straight, his legs still half-bent in front of him. “I don’t have all of the Antlers I need.”

“Yes, you do.”

“What?”

“Check.”

Warily, Lance pulled his bag onto his lap and looked inside.

“One, two, three, four— Wait, there _are_ five.” He furrowed his brow and lifted his head to squint suspiciously at the mouse. “How… How did you know that?”

“I gave you a quest,” said Chuchule simply. “I can tell when you have it completed. If you hadn’t finished it, I wouldn’t have approached you.”

“Huh.”

“Now…” Chuchule held out her hands. “Would you like to use those Antlers to learn your first spell? It’s only fair to warn you that the items will be permanently removed from your—”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, removed from my inventory, I figured.” Lance pulled the Antlers out of his bag, resulting in a Mary Poppins-like visual as the Antlers were far larger than the bag, and he leaned forward to set them on the ground in front of his feet.

Before they even touched the earth, they exploded into violet flakes, flakes not unlike the sparkling, snow-like effect that drifted down all around Lance and Chuchule.

The flakes swirled around like flower petals caught in a vortex, and when Lance looked, he found Chuchule’s paws raised above her head, conducting the swirling glimmers as if they were a symphony.

She pointed at Lance, and the glittering, violet lights changed direction. They twisted in mid-air and rushed straight at Lance’s chest, spreading a cold, tingling feeling outward to the tips of his fingers and the ends of his toes and the crown of his head.

Lance touched his chest, where the lights had gone into him, and he looked to Chuchule for guidance. “...Is that it? Do I have magic now?”

“Well,” said Chuchule, sitting down in front of Lance. “You’ve always had magic. You’re a mage, after all. And it’s been awakened now. But you still don’t know how to use it yet, right?”

Lance crossed his legs and leaned forward. “What do I have to do?”

“Close your eyes,” said Chuchule.

Lance complied.

And yet again, he was surprised with how real Altea felt.

Even with his eyes closed and the visual side of the experience gone, Lance could still tell that he was in the forest. He could smell the trees and the earth, he could hear the chirping of insects. Twigs and acorns and tiny stones dug into his legs from below.

“Do you remember the way it felt when the soul of the Antlers touched yours?”

When Chuchule spoke, Lance swore that it rang in his head instead of his ears. It made everything feel that much more magical.

He nodded cautiously and placed his hands on his knees.

“Good,” said Chuchule. “Hold onto that feeling, and try to replicate it. The temperature, the sensations, the emotions. Was it warm? Cold? Did it feel like being afraid or like being in love? Remember everything. Feel what you felt. Conjure the magic that awoke within you.”

Lance almost wanted to laugh. He was still playing a game, wasn’t he? How could the game detect—

“You’re not conjuring.”

“Right, sorry,” mumbled Lance. Were his eyes open, he would have rolled them.

Instead, he did what Chuchule asked.

He thought about the icy feeling deep in his chest. The tingling. Like sparks. Like...being submerged in cold water.

Like drowning.

“Good. Hold onto it.”

He didn’t want to.

“Just a little bit more.”

He really, really didn’t want to.

“Chase it. Build on it.”

“I can’t.”

“Of course you—”

“I can’t!”

Lance slammed his hands hard against the dirt on either side of his legs and opened his eyes.

Chuchule stared at him with wide eyes.

“I can’t do this,” said Lance. His hands were shaking. When did they start shaking? “If this is what magic is like, then I don’t want to do it.”

Chuchule sighed and leaned forward, dropping her front paws to the dirt.

“This is what _attack_ magic is like,” she said gently. “The other three types of magic you can learn are completely different. If you don’t want to pursue offensive attacks, I won’t force your hand, but don’t let this experience stop you from seeking out the other three mice. If you won’t learn attack magic, then the least you can do for yourself is learn defensive spells. Otherwise, you can’t expect to survive against stronger enemies. Not with only a bow to attack them with.”

“Right,” said Lance sharply, glaring at Chuchule. As if it was her fault. As if she knew what was going on inside his head. “Where are the rest of the mice?”

Chuchule’s ears drooped. “I… I can’t tell you that.”

Lance laughed bitterly. “Of course you can’t. That’s great.” He shuddered and touched his thumbs and pinkies together.

“Lance, don’t—!”

“ _Log out!_ ”

The world faded to black, and when Lance opened his eyes again, he was in his bedroom, in the dark, staring at his ceiling.

He tore his headset off of his head and dropped it onto the floor next to his bed.

He was still shivering. Everything felt so cold.

With a shaky exhale, Lance reached for the blankets underneath him and rolled on his side, wrapping himself up tight.

“I’m okay,” he whispered to himself, curling into a ball and closing his eyes. “I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look. I worked action, fluff, and angst all into one chapter. That wasn't intentional, but, hey, my three favorite things in the same place. Look at me go.
> 
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>  [Discord](https://discord.gg/hrgP6yj)


	7. Skill

Hunk flinched violently when Shay speared the end of an enormous, flat crystal with her halberd. She raised it above her head without an ounce of visible effort and sent Hunk a warm smile.

“Come closer,” she said, extending a clawed hand.

“Um… Why?” asked Hunk, who was already creeping close despite his skepticism.

“Do you want to become wet?” asked Shay, amusement brightening her tones.

“No,” said Hunk decidedly, sidling close to Shay’s side and looking up at the crystal over their heads. “So, is that… Are you using that as an umbrella?”

“Yes,” said Shay, wrapping an arm around Hunk’s shoulders, her knuckles knocking gently against the walking stick that lit their way. “You will see.”

As they moved through the tunnels, Hunk kept his eyes on the ground, and he noticed that every step they took brought them to damper and damper stone. He noticed puddles that had gathered in the lowest parts of the stone, and he noticed dripping from the stalactites overhead, but not enough that they required an umbrella, much less an umbrella made out of quartz.

But then, the sound reached his ears. The sound of running water. A great deal more than just a few drops. It sounded like a storm.

“Should I be worried?” asked Hunk.

“No,” said Shay, still audibly amused, refusing to elaborate.

The more they walked, the louder the sound grew.

“You must pay close attention to the ground,” said Shay, raising her voice over the rumbling, rushing, splattering water. “There is a gap.”

“A gap?” asked Hunk. “Like, a big-enough-for-me-to-fall-through-the-floor gap?”

“Yes,” said Shay calmly. “But you will not fall so long as you stay close to me. I will not let you.”

Hunk whined skeptically, focusing intently on the wet cave floor.

When Shay spoke next, her voice was softer, barely audible over the rain. “You are safe. These tunnels are mapped in my mind. I would sooner forget my own reflection than forget a ridge in the stone.”

“Sure,” mumbled Hunk, still scanning the floor. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Shay. He did. She saved him from Weble, after all. But it didn’t matter how much he trusted someone. That didn’t make his anxiety just disappear. People were fallible. Even computer-generated rock people.

“The gap is nearing,” said Shay. “Would you...feel better were I to pull away from you?”

“No,” admitted Hunk, though he was still gripping onto his walking stick as tight as his hands could manage. “I wouldn’t.”

“Okay,” said Shay softly. She squeezed Hunk’s shoulder. “The gap is there.”

Hunk looked ahead and squinted. He didn’t see it at first. And then he did, when, after a few steps, the light from the lantern on his walking stick finally reached the edge of the gap.

“I guess you see in the dark better than I do,” said Hunk.

“All Balmera are raised underground,” said Shay. “True Balmerans are evolved for travel in tunnels. The light is blinding to our kind. Taujeerians are not in possession of eyes at all. It does not matter to them whether they are in light or darkness. We are built for this world.”

“Cool, cool,” muttered Hunk anxiously, watching the steadily-approaching gap in the stone. “Am I gonna be able to cross that? It’s pretty wide.”

“Your legs are not so much shorter than mine, and I can cross it easily.”

“Mmph.”

They stopped at the edge of the gap. Hunk stretched his arm out, hand shaking, lantern wobbling, and peered into the black pit. It seemed bottomless. For all he knew, it could have been. He was in a game, after all.

“Have I mentioned I’m not so great with heights?” asked Hunk. “Because I’m really... _really_ not so great with heights. I can’t even go on the balcony of my own apartment without rushing back inside to throw up. Is it okay if I throw up? I might throw up. I don’t know if I can throw up in this game, but if it’s possible, it’s gonna happen. Probably.”

“Worry not,” said Shay, her voice warm and kind as ever. “This is only for a moment, and the two of us are together.”

“Ugh, don’t say that,” sighed Hunk, yanking his arm back from the pit. “I might throw up _on you_. I’d feel awful.”

“I would forgive you,” said Shay, pulling Hunk closer. “I do not think that will happen, however. We will hold on to each other, and we will take our steps together. There is no reason to be afraid.”

“You are severely underestimating my ability to be scared,” protested Hunk. “Really, really scared. Of everything.”

“You are not afraid of me,” insisted Shay.

Hunk rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m not scared of _you_ ,” he said stubbornly. “Why would I be scared of _you_?”

“Why are you afraid of a tiny gap in the floor?” asked Shay, raising her brow pointedly. “I am a large and strong creature with claws. Should I not be more frightening?”

“Yeah, well, _you’re_ a _sweetheart_ ,” argued Hunk. “You have no reason to hurt me.”

“Nor does that gap,” said Shay, nodding toward the tiny canyon. Hunk wondered whether the only reason she could look at it without her hair standing on end was because she had no hair to speak of. “It merely exists. And we are merely passing, just as a child might be passed in the city.”

Hunk exhaled hotly through his nose. “...When you put it like _that—_ ”

“It is the way things are,” said Shay. “I am merely offering an alternate point of view. The gap is not our enemy. The gap is simply a gap. And we will cross it.”

Hunk looked hard into Shay’s eyes for a long moment.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But don’t...don’t let go of me, okay?”

Shay smiled, true happiness in her luminescent eyes. “Never.”

They shuffled as close to the edge as they could, one of Hunk’s hands tight on his walking stick, the other around Shay’s waist. In unison, they raised their outer feet, and in unison, they stepped across the gap.

They straddled the space between one side and the other for a moment, and they exchanged a look—Shay’s searching, Hunk’s nervous.

And then the rumbling came. Like the stormy noise Hunk had been listening to for several minutes had surged anew. It echoed through the tunnel, louder and louder and louder and Hunk only realized he was screaming when he couldn’t hear his own screams anymore.

And then it plateaued.

And Hunk slowly opened the eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed, stopped clinging to Shay when he caught himself doing it, and looked up.

And he realized why Shay had made a quartz umbrella.

Water poured all around them, some of it splashing onto the cave floor, but most of it draining into the gap underneath them.

“Oh!” said Hunk, just as the sound of the water began to die down. “It was...just water. Okay. Guess I freaked out for no reason.”

Shay chuckled, and Hunk look at her as if seeing her for the first time.

“You could have warned me or something!” he accused.

“I apologize,” said Shay, stifling giggles. “I knew not whether the hollow stone above would tip. It does so at seemingly arbitrary times. It is very difficult to predict. I knew you would not cross if you knew so.”

Hunk grimaced. “I would have crossed,” he admitted. “But...I would have tried to figure out the pattern first. That could have taken forever. I don’t blame you.”

The water stopped falling around them completely and Hunk took a hasty step to the other side, eager to get away from the gap, even if it meant letting go of Shay. So hasty was his step, however, that the second he put down his foot, he slipped and began to fall backward toward the pit—

“Wah!”

—only to be stopped by a gentle hand that pushed him carefully to the far side again.

Once upright, Hunk turned around, a grateful smile on his face.

Shay smiled right back. “I did tell you that I would not let you fall,” she said softly.

“Guess you did,” said Hunk.

Shay’s hand reached out and wrapped around Hunk’s, completely consuming it in her enormous grip. “I am proud of you for crossing.” There was no teasing in her tone. No judgment. No sass. She was genuinely proud. And Hunk’s stomach was twisting into knots again. “Now, come. My favorite room of this floor is not far.”

“How far is ‘not far’?” asked Hunk, raising an eyebrow as he allowed himself to be pulled along.

“Well…” said Shay, slowing down. “It should be… Oh!”

The second her rough, two-toed foot touched the ground on the other side of an imperceptible barrier, the entire room seemed to wake up. No longer was Hunk’s lantern the only source of light in the cavern. Blue crystals scattered around every inch of the room lit up one by one, rippling out from Shay’s feet as if each glimmering light was greeting her as one of their own.

They spread at first across the floor, then stretched up toward the ceiling, where the lights appeared to glitter more and dissipated strangely, sending waves and webs rippling along the floor and the walls of the cave. Those crystals seemed to be underwater, or...perhaps it would be more accurate to say that they were _over_ water.

“Is… Is that a pond? On the ceiling?” Hunk gripped the wall and looked up warily, eyes wide.

Droplets fell down from the pond, still glowing with the light from the crystals, as if they’d stolen photons and carried them all the way down to the floor. They dropped slowly, just slow enough to feel slightly unnerving, like they hesitated to separate themselves from the larger body of water.

“Yes,” said Shay brightly, her eyes glowing even brighter than the water that dripped down from the crown of her head. She overturned her halberd-and-quartz umbrella and set it on the ground with so much ease that Hunk wasn’t convinced that it weighed more than a normal umbrella to her.

Her clawed hand squeezed around Hunk’s. “Your job is to experience all this world has to offer,” she said, tugging on his hand gently. “Already, you have experienced some of the worst of Altea. I thought it would be best for you to see something wonderful before your day ends.”

“Hey,” said Hunk, protesting. “It’s not like my whole day has been bad. I found a pretty cool library. Made a lantern.”

“This experience far outweighs a library,” insisted Shay, tugging a little more insistently. “Come on!”

Hunk took a deep breath, stole one last look at the pond dripping down on them from overhead, and stepped under the water.

It was realistic. Very realistic, looking past the slow descent of the water.

“It’s like standing in a slow-mo shower,” said Hunk, looking up at the pond again. “Uh, like ‘April showers bring May flowers’ kind of shower, not ‘bathroom’ kind of shower. Why is it like that, anyway?”

“Are you asking in regards to the pool or the ‘slow-mo’?”

“Uhh…” Hunk looked back at Shay. “Yes?”

Shay laughed gently and took a step closer to Hunk. Her clothes were already soaked, but she didn’t seem to mind. “Altea is a world of magic,” she said. “Not everything adheres to the laws of Earth.”

“Right,” said Hunk, only a little disappointed.

“But…” Shay pointed up. “In this case, the collection of water above was the invention of Matt, and so there _is_ an explanation, much to do with the polar nature of water and behavior mimicking magnetism.”

Hunk’s disappointment disappeared immediately. “Go on…”

“Later,” said Shay, stepping backward and tugging on Hunk’s hand again. “First, there is something you must see.”

“Yeah?” asked Hunk, following uncertainly, each step accompanied by the soft thunk of his walking stick on the wet, shining floor. “What’s that?”

Hunk had barely asked before he got the answer to his question.

The floor beneath him lit up like a Christmas tree, glowing even brighter than any of the crystals around him.

“ _Shay…_ ” Hunk whisper-screamed, squeezing his friend’s hand tighter. “ _What is this?!_ ”

“Your first spell,” explained Shay at an equal—but much calmer—volume. “The earth of Balmera is alive, and can be communicated with. Balmerans can communicate with the earth best, but even humans can speak with her in places such as this, where the world feels...strange.”

“So, what, I’m standing at Balmera’s ear or something?” asked Hunk, still nervous.

“More like...her heart,” said Shay. “Try.”

“How?”

“Touch her.”

It was weird. Everything about it was weird. But Hunk did as he was instructed.

He let go of Shay’s hand, kneeled, set his walking stick aside, and pressed his palms to the wet cave floor.

Immediately—before the feeling of cold, wet stone against his hands even had a chance to sink in—Hunk felt a strange, prodding sensation in his mind. Like something was asking him many, many questions very, very quickly, as if he were taking an ethics test without actually hearing any of the questions, but still straining to answer questions with as much conscious honesty as he could muster.

Was it supposed to feel like that? Was that normal? Hunk hoped it was normal.

It lasted for only a few seconds—thirty, at the most—and then it was over.

The glow underneath Hunk faded and he pulled his hands off of the stone. He flexed his fingers for a moment and frowned down at them.

“...Hey, Shay? How’s your HP?”

“I lost a little in the battle against Weble.”

“Yeah, against the little guys I was supposed to protect you from,” said Hunk, inching closer to where Shay kneeled across from him. “So here, let me fix that.”

Shay shifted where she sat and offered her leg, which still showed visible signs of a scratch. It didn’t look like a normal scratch, like the kind he would get. It looked like a chip in a statue. But it was still red and irritated, like the pores in the stone were inflamed.

Hunk reached out and hovered a hand over the scrape, less than an inch over the wound itself.

Shay glowed blue under his hand, just like the stone did under his feet just a moment before, and the stone on her leg regrew to normal.

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

ＳＫＩＬＬ ＬＥＡＲＮＥＤ

Ｔｅａｒｓ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ Ｂａｌｍｅｒａ

╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

 

* * *

 

Hunk pulled his VR headset off and shook his hair out in a half-hearted attempt to rid himself of whatever he was sure his hair was doing. He felt a little guilty, leaving Shay alone, but they both knew that he couldn’t stay forever, and it wasn’t like he’d left without helping her build a shelter.

If he stayed any longer than that, however, Hunk was sure he would have died of hunger.

He set his headset aside and made to stand up, but in doing so, he noticed the plate.

“Lance, buddy, I love you,” he whispered, and he pulled the plate onto his lap to tuck in.

The second the bread touched his lips, Hunk could already tell how perfect the sandwich was. Just the right amount of ham and lettuce, mustard spread between the fillings instead of on the bread itself so that the texture’s integrity was preserved… Lance knew him too well.

A content chuckle fell from Hunk’s lips as he let himself fall against the back of the couch, still munching. He’d have to thank Lance for such a pleasant surprise. He could make banana bread—no, _pumpkin_ bread.

“‘Tis the season,” mused Hunk, and he popped the last of his chips into his mouth.

His dark eyes wandered across the room, as Hunk realized that the fact that Lance had left him some food meant that he’d had to have stopped playing at some point. Chances were, if Lance wasn’t waiting impatiently for Hunk to stop playing in the same room, Lance was waiting for him in his own bedroom.

Hunk climbed to his feet, stretched out his back—stiff from being in the same position for so long—and he took his plate to the kitchen before wandering down the hallway in the direction of Lance’s bedroom.

The first thing Hunk noticed that was strange was that the door was open. Lance rarely left his bedroom door open unless the room was unoccupied. The lights were off, too. It seemed unlikely that Lance would have left after playing a new game, especially one Hunk was playing as well. He always wanted to know Hunk’s thoughts, and Hunk was actually excited to share his adventure with Shay, but maybe something came up—

“Hunk?”

Hunk jumped. “Holy crow, Lance, you nearly gave me a heart attack! What are you doing in the dark?”

“You know,” said Lance, his voice strange and uneven. “Chilling. Just...hanging out.”

Oh.

_Ohhh_.

Hunk knew what that meant.

“You...mind if I chill with you?”

“Be my guest.”

Despite what the grumble in Lance’s voice might have suggested to anyone else, Hunk was familiar with the nuances of his tones. He knew when Lance _really_ wanted to be left alone and when he wanted as much affection as he could possibly get and just didn’t want to show it.

This definitely the latter.

Lance scooted closer to the wall, blanket burrito and all, and Hunk climbed onto his bed and made himself comfortable in the space Lance left behind.

It was warm.

How long had he been lying there?

“So… Altea’s fun,” said Hunk. Simple. Not too invasive. If something happened and Lance wanted to talk about it, he had a segue. If not, no pressure.

Judging by the noncommittal “Hm,” Hunk got in response, he assumed that was a “no” on the “talking about it”.

“I made a friend,” said Hunk, continuing. “Well, an AI friend. But the AI’s so real that I’d probably think she was a real person on the other end if I didn’t know better.”

“Hm,” said Lance again.

“Pidge was right. Pretty advanced stuff.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you meet anyone like that?” asked Hunk, hoping for something, anything he could hold onto. _Come on, Lance, throw me a line._

“One,” mumbled Lance. “Innkeeper. Old guy. Nice. Kind of sassy, though.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hunk turned his head toward Lance. “Sassy how?”

Lance just shrugged without so much as raising his head.

Hunk pursed his lips. He hated when Lance was like this. It wasn’t that he hated dealing with Lance when he got this way, but...it hurt him knowing that Lance was going through something and there was nothing he could do about it.

When Hunk got anxious, he rambled.

When Lance got anxious, he clammed up.

And he’d explained it to Hunk before. Lance could be really open about his feelings when he was in the right mood for it, and he had no qualms about explaining to Hunk what it was like for him, that he felt like he didn’t have the energy to find words because so much of that energy was being wasted on what he was worrying about. And Hunk could understand that.

But it also really, really sucked, caring about Lance but knowing he was totally helpless.

To Hunk’s surprise, however, Lance inched forward, just close enough to rest his forehead on Hunk’s shoulder.

“Tell me about your friend,” he mumbled.

Hunk sighed. That, at least, he could do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, spellcheck, "Hunk" is not a "possibly confused word".


	8. Save

Lance tightened the blanket around his shoulders as Hunk slid him a plate dressed with crisp bacon, toast with strawberry jam, and eggs, sunny-side up, slightly runny. The fact that they weren’t over easy—which Hunk normally considered a crime—was a sure sign that he was truly feeling sorry for Lance.

“So…” Hunk lowered himself onto the chair across from Lance and cut into his own eggs—which _were_ over easy—with the side of his fork. “You...jumping back in the saddle today, or do you need a break? Like, I’m sure Shiro would understand, you know, if you explained things. And if he doesn’t, I could always call him.”

“You _hate_ calling people,” said Lance, reaching for his fork.

“Well, yeah, obviously,” said Hunk dismissively, spearing the chunk of fried egg white he’d just cut free, “but I’d still do it if my best friend needed me to.”

Lance smiled to himself. What did he do to deserve a friend like Hunk? “I’ll be okay,” he said quietly. “Just gonna definitely not bother with that spell.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t either,” said Hunk in a defeated sigh. “I wish we were in the same world, though. If I could just be there for you—”

“You would be,” said Lance softly. “I know. But you can’t, and that isn’t anyone’s fault, so don’t beat yourself up for it, okay?” He pushed his bacon around with the prongs of his fork. “You heard from Pidge yet?”

“Are you kidding me?” Lance didn’t need to lift his head to know that Hunk had rolled his eyes. “You know how Pidge is when they get a new game; you don’t see them for a week and then they come back with bags under their eyes the size of drink coasters. And considering this is, y’know...Matt’s game and all…”

“...You think they’re okay?”

“I don’t know,” said Hunk. “We probably won’t know for another week. If that.”

Lance sighed and wiggled the prongs of his fork until the bacon was balanced between the two middle prongs. “I hope they’re okay. We don’t need two breakdowns on our hands.”

“Hey, _no_ ,” said Hunk through a mouthful of egg. Lance lifted his eyes to find Hunk’s fork pointed in his direction. “I’m not having that crap. We’re not doing it. You’re not blaming yourself for what happened. You couldn’t have predicted that. It’s not your fault.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “I’m _fine_ , Hunk. Let me make jokes about it.”

Hunk’s concerned frowned turned into a glare. “ _Lance_.”

Lance sighed emphatically. “Fine. I won’t be so self-depreciating in my choice of words when I’m recovering from a fragile state of mind. Happy?”

Hunk, who had taught Lance to say that exact phrase long ago, relaxed his glare. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

 

* * *

 

The roof unfolded like it always did, and Lance sat up from his bed, in his room, in the inn.

“This...is not where I logged out,” mused Lance, his brow furrowing.

Was there a glitch? Maybe because he was in the middle of learning a spell? Unless— He reached down for his shirt and plucked at it to get a proper look at what he was wearing.

No, he still had his clothes, and a quick look at the bag hanging from his shoulder confirmed that he still had all of his wool and the lotus he’d gotten from Coran as well.

Warily, Lance swung his feet over the side of his bed and lowered them to the hardwood floor. The soles of his sandals hit the wood with two soft taps, and he stood from his bed, not bothering to make it when there were mysteries to be solved.

His bedroom door swung open with a creak and Lance made his way into the corridor. Because he was the first person to join the game, his bedroom was right by the top of the stairs, something he certainly appreciated when he was curious, searching for answers.

Thankfully, he didn’t need to spend much time searching for Coran; he heard jovial humming from the kitchen, and he needed only follow the sounds of cheer.

“Coran?” Lance peered around the archway into the kitchen and stole a glance at Coran, who was standing at the stove, back turned to Lance.

“Good morning,” said the man without turning around. “You, my dear friend, are just in time—” The piercing sound of a kettle bore into Lance’s ears. “—to join me for a morning cup of tea.”

Lance, who remembered the potion seller’s warning about Coran’s cooking and wondered whether that applied to his tea brewing as well, suddenly decided that it was best that he didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. “Uh— Actually, I just wanted to stop in, say hi, and now that I’ve done that, I’m gonna go and—”

“Nonsense!” said Coran, twisting around and pointing a steaming kettle threateningly in Lance’s direction. Not the first time that day Lance had been gently threatened with kitchen tools. It was going to be one of those days, wasn’t it? “I haven’t seen you in two quintants. The least you can do is join me for a cup of tea, don’t you think?”

“ _Two—_?! Oh.” Lance winced. “I didn’t even think about that. Twelve hours is two days for you— Geez, Coran, I’m sorry.” It had to be lonely, stuck in the inn by himself all that time…

“Don’t worry about that,” said Coran, turning back around and opening a cabinet above his head. “We all know that you lead your own lives. We’re just a part of it. It’s what we signed up for. It’s not as if we’re forced to be here, you know. Shiro isn’t a monster. Nor was Matt.”

Coran froze in place for a moment. A sort of heaviness settled over the kitchen. A melancholy.

And then, as quickly as it came, it passed, and Coran turned around, holding two cups between his fingers by their mouths, all cheer again. “But that’s neither here nor there. You’re here to have tea with me.”

“So...you knew Matt?”

Lance regretted the words the second they left his mouth and he saw a weariness wear lines into the corners of Coran’s eyes.

He sighed softly, and he carried the cups to the short table by the archway. “We all did,” he explained, setting the cups down beside each other. “Not well. But he dropped us into the game one by one, and we got reports every time he made an update. Mass messages delivered directly to us.” A tired smile tugged at his lips, half-hidden by his mustache. “There was so much personality in that boy’s reports. He was so excited for every new asset, every tiny alteration he made to the coastlines…” Coran tipped the kettle and began to fill one of the green, wooden teacups. “Even the most minor of changes he made to the physics. He’d phrase the reports like, ‘Gravity works now! You can toss things without the assets teleporting to the floor the second they leave your hands! That means you can play catch if you want! Isn’t that amazing?’ I doubt there was a single aspect of the project that didn’t excite him. It felt more like reading the diary of the happiest person alive than an update log.”

Coran sighed wistfully, and Lance couldn’t keep a smile off of his face. At least, not until Coran stopped pouring the tea, his smile gone.

“And then, suddenly...no update reports.” He set one of the teacups in front of a chair. “None at all. Sloven-day-ho. And for someone who made updates twice a movement to suddenly go radio silent for longer than ten quintants without warning… Well. We all knew that _something_ was wrong right away.” He moved the other teacup in front of another chair. “Quintants turned to movements, movements to phoebes, and before we knew it, a whole deca-phoebe had gone by. And after all that, the last of us who were hopeful had our hopes crushed when we finally got our first report in what felt like forever. It was our longest report ever, and certainly our saddest. I swear you could hear the despair in Shiro’s voice.” Coran sighed. “Brave man. _Brave man_ , that Shiro, to shoulder the completion of the game on his own after losing the man he loved. I imagine it must be a bit like raising a child on one’s own. Things are certainly not the same here, no reports, no sign of update at all save for this odd sort of glitch that happens when Shiro changes the world in any way. He’s not quite the genius that Matt was. But he tries. I can’t fault him for that.”

Coran straightened his back, and when he walked back to the stove, there was no mistaking the tension in his shoulders. “But listen to me, prattling away. All you asked was whether I knew Matt, and I just go on and on—”

“No, it’s okay,” assured Lance. He felt odd, like he’d gotten so absorbed in Coran’s reminiscing that he’d forgotten that he existed. He could probably attribute that to the fact that he was still recovering from the day before. “I didn’t really know him. I only ever met him once. But...his sibling is my best friend. I mean, tied with Hunk. And I saw how hard they took it when Matt died.”

“Ah, Pidge?” Coran set the kettle on the stove and turned around, his genuine happiness returning. “In that case, you probably know Matt better than I ever did. We NPCs all met him at least once, but most of what we knew of him came from his reports. They showed a lot of his personality, or at least a projected personality, but they weren’t really...personal. But we all know how close he and Pidge were. Two peas in a pod. They shared everything. If you knew one, you most likely knew the other.”

Lance thought about every story Pidge ever told him—the time he nearly set the yard on fire trying to make his own Bunsen burner with an antique lamp and a bit of tubing, the time he started crying because he heard that ice samples had been successfully collected from some other planet’s moon, how long he spent pining and lamenting over Shiro because Shiro was in a relationship with someone else before they got together—and Lance had to admit that...yeah. He did know Matt pretty well.

But he still didn’t _lose_ anything when Matt died. Even totally impersonal correspondence was something that everyone in Altea lost when they lost Matt. The only thing Lance lost was how happy Pidge used to be, and he knew how selfish it was to say that loss was his own.

“Well, enough about that.” Coran had returned to the table at some point during Lance’s silent musing and had dropped himself into a chair. “You came down here to figure out why you still have all of your items, right?”

Lance nodded warily, brow furrowed.

“Well, I’ll never talk,” said Coran, smirking as he reached for his teacup. “Not unless you drink some of this delicious tea first.”

Lance tried not to wince.

_Oh, boy._

 

* * *

 

There was a reason Keith made his home in Arus instead of in any other kingdom.

The forests of Olkarion were a strong, sturdy place full of nooks and crannies to hide in.

Balmera was tucked deep under the earth and protected by countless powerful monsters.

Either would have been fine places to for Keith to settle down, and the Galra would probably have never found him.

But Arus… Arus had its quiet mountains. Its lakes and rivers. Its snow. Its sunsets. Its starry skies. He couldn’t give those away. Not for the world.

Besides, he didn’t want to stray too far from the people of Arus. They were kind, mild-mannered. Often soft-spoken.

Except for perhaps Arus’ newest citizen. Keith could probably do without him.

A loud, long, disapproving grumble rolled up Red’s back, rippling through Keith’s legs.

He groaned and leaned forward to bury his face in the white fur of Red’s mane. “We just fought Drazil,” he said stubbornly, turning his head and pressing his cheek into Red’s scaly skin. “ _Unprepared_. I’m not doing anything right now except for curling up in bed and waiting for tomorrow.”

Red whined in disapproval, and that was Keith’s only warning before the sudden shift in direction, one even he couldn’t predict.

“Wh— Hey!”

Keith shot upright and reached for Red’s mane, giving it a warning pull.

“You’re not the one in charge here. You can’t just—”

Red pulled a sudden aileron roll, forcing Keith to lean back down and wrap his arms tight around Red’s neck.

“I hate you,” he mumbled when Red straightened out again, knowing those words were far from the truth.

A series of growls that felt far more like laughter rolled up Red’s back.

“Same to you,” sighed Keith, warily sitting up again. “Fine. If we’re doing this, we’re going to the inn.”

It was ridiculous; Keith hadn’t even told Red about the new player yet. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Not when Red always knew what he was thinking in battle. It made sense for that to be true outside of battle as well. But it was still surprising for Red to have figured out what to do when Keith himself had only been thinking about checking in on the new player.

“He’s probably not even there,” mumbled Keith. “He probably ragequit.” He seemed like that kind of guy.

But Keith couldn’t deny that he was still curious in spite of that.

It was his first glimpse of the outside world in a long, long time.

It was hard not to be tempted.

And it would have been even harder to land Red on the narrow path in front of the inn, so Keith didn’t.

He climbed to his feet on Red’s back and balanced on her spine, crouched low, and as she swept over the inn’s thatched roof, he jumped down. The straw crunched under his feet, breaking his fall, and he crossed to the edge of the roof to climb safely to the loose, dry dirt below.

The lights from the inside were shining out, warm and golden and flickering from fireplaces and lanterns and candles. Keith’s own home never flickered like that. He lit his own fires, and he put them out when he left. For the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to wonder what it might be like to have someone, just one person, to come home to once in a while, and then that thought fell away just like such thoughts always did.

He pushed open the door of the inn and his eyes immediately found the wizened innkeeper behind his counter, a green-bound book in one hand, the other supporting his chin.

“Did you actually heed my warning and return _before_ disaster struck this time?” asked the man, fluidly turning a page at the corner. “Or are you— Oh!”

The innkeeper’s eyes had flicked up over the cover of his book just long enough to realize that the person he was talking to was not the person he thought he was talking to, and he closed his book and set it aside.

“I’m sorry, I was expecting— Well, this is ironic— Hello!” He rested his hands on the countertop, palms down, and sent Keith an amicable grin. “What can I do for you?”

“Uh, hi,” said Keith. He wasn’t great with strangers, and he’d never found a reason to talk to the innkeeper. “I’m K—”

“Keith,” said the innkeeper cheerfully. “I know who you are. Of course I do. Who doesn’t? You’ve made quite the name for yourself.”

Keith sighed. “Right, well… I’m looking for someone, and I thought here would be a good place to start.”

“Let me guess,” said the innkeeper, raising an eyebrow, a knowing twinkle in his eye. “Maybe about 180 centimeters tall, brown hair, only slightly more muscle mass than the lower arms of an Unilu who’s been in a coma for half a deca-phoebe?”

Keith furrowed his brow. He didn’t think that the new player was _that_ scrawny—if Keith was honest with himself, he was probably worse under all of his armor—but aside from that, the description was spot on. “How did you know—?”

“Who else would anyone be looking for here?” asked the innkeeper, shrugging. “Unfortunately, he’s not here right now. He actually left around the time you took down Drazil. Ironically, the reason you won’t find him here is that he left looking for you. He’s not too fond of you, actually. Apparently, he would rather have had his butt soundly kicked than to have missed out on such an exciting battle.”

Keith rolled his eyes. Yeah, that was _definitely_ the guy.

Wait…

“He’s not in the forest, is he?” demanded Keith, gesturing toward the door in disbelief. “Out there? Right _now_?”

“I’m afraid he is,” said the innkeeper. “And at this rate, I don’t think he’ll be coming home of his own free will.”

Keith groaned and buried his face in his hands. How much energy did he have to expend to keep one stupid person alive? What was this, the fourth time?

“I’m going after him,” sighed Keith, dropping his hands and turning around. At least Draugrs and Wooly Moose were less of a threat than Drazil.

“Really?” asked the innkeeper from behind Keith. “ _Again_?”

Keith groaned. “I know.”

The grass shuffled and rustled beneath Keith’s feet as he ran. If his goal was anywhere but the forest, he would have called for Red, but she couldn’t navigate the trees as easily as she could navigate the air. She could barely dive down for long enough to pick up Keith before they had to fly out of the woods. She was built for speed, but that long tail of hers was too much of a hassle in the trees. As long as Keith had stamina, he would be faster on foot in the long run.

He ran as fast as his feet would carry him, knife already drawn. His heart pounded in his ears.

In a brief, hysteric moment, Keith was assaulted with the memory of his father telling him not to run with knives or scissors when he was just a little kid. A warning that he was going to trip and wind up stabbing himself. It was bizarre, to be sure. Keith hadn’t even thought about his father in months, and yet there he was, thinking about the smallest, briefest, most inconsequential moment from his childhood. Something totally impersonal. Something he was sure every person must have experienced at one point, if not with their parents, then at least with someone.

It was definitely strange to think about in a dire situation.

 _Sorry, Dad,_ he thought, the sentiment odd in his head. _I’ve been doing a lot of running with knives lately._

A swarm of pink caught Keith’s eye in the darkness, and he rounded a tree, changing direction quickly and cutting past two Wooly Moose with two quick jabs.

And what he saw beyond them shocked him so much he nearly stumbled.

The new player was there, yes, but he was on the ground, unconscious—no, logged out. That wasn’t the strange part, though. No, the strange part was the mouse. One of the Mage Mice. She looked...battered. Tired. But she was still standing, albeit on all fours, back arched, teeth bared. Were she not so small, she would have been truly intimidating to anyone.

However, Keith, knowing the Mage Mice by reputation, was intimidated regardless of her size.

What he couldn’t understand was why _she_ was protecting the new player. She wouldn’t just do that, would she? There had to be a reason.

“What happened?” asked Keith, rushing to the mouse’s side and raising his knife out to his side, at waist level.

“I tried to stop him,” said the mouse urgently. A wall of air stained strangely purple pushed out around them, knocking every Wooly Moose back a few feet and identifying the mouse as Chuchule faster than a nametag ever would. “But he wasn’t in the mood for conversation—”

“Sounds like him,” grumbled Keith, turning his knife over in his hand.

“No, you don’t understand,” said Chuchule, turning her violet-pink gaze on Keith. “It wasn’t fully his fault; he had a panic attack—”

“A _panic attack_?” Keith had to admit, that was the last thing he was expecting. “So he actually took himself _out_ of danger for once? Wow. Color me surprised.”

“I’m sure that’s what he thought he was doing, at least,” said Chuchule, darkness in her elegant voice. “With as much as you travel, I’m sure you’re aware of what the Galra Empire has been up to.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. He didn’t waste any energy on being surprised that Chuchule knew that; the mice were notorious gossipers. Very little escaped their curious ears, and they knew acts of war as easily as they knew whether two villagers planned to elope. “Yeah. I know about that.”

The wall of wind Chuchule had surrounded them with was already dying down, and the Moose were trying their hardest to push through. It wouldn’t be long before they succeeded.

“How long has he been here?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Chuchule. “It’s been hard to keep track with everything else going on. Two vargas? Three?”

“Just five to go,” grumbled Keith, gripping his knife tighter and keeping an eye on their enemies. “Great.”

“Unless we can carry him out of here,” said Chuchule.

“I don’t have that kind of stamina,” said Keith. “I’m a warrior, not a healer. I’d have to walk him out. We’d get mowed over way before we got him out of the woods.”

“Not if I lay down cover fire.”

Keith looked out at the horde of moose around them, then down at the boy slumped over on the forest floor.

“...Dammit,” hissed Keith. He dove down and, with a bit of help from Chuchule’s wind, managed to pull the boy’s weight onto his back.

Chuchule climbed onto his shoulder.

The barrier dropped.

And Keith ran.

The new player was heavy. _Really_ heavy. Keith’s stamina was dropping as fast as an arrow fired straight down, and he wouldn’t be able to run for long, but if he could just put some distance between himself and the moose, a little bit of space for Chuchule to start firing off spells, they’d have a better chance of escaping unscathed, maybe.

Keith kept his eye on his stamina bar, doing his best to focus on that rather than the furious moose calls and thunderous roars of wind behind his back.

“You’re not even going to be grateful for this, are you?” grumbled Keith under his breath.

The stranger didn’t answer. Not that Keith expected him to. He wasn’t just asleep. He was logged out. Gone. Probably curled up somewhere with a cup of tea or a movie or some calming music.

And god, Keith couldn’t even remember the last time he’d heard music.

Whoever the guy on his back was, he was lucky. Really, really lucky. And he had no idea how lucky he was.

A gust of wind rippled the ankle-length robe garment under his armor and pushed the longest locks of Keith’s hair over his neck.

“How’s it going back there?” asked Keith.

“Don’t talk,” said Chuchule, breathless with effort. “Not unless you have MP restores.”

“Warrior,” reminded Keith. There was nothing more that needed to be said.

The walk was slow, and it was particularly agonizing when Keith knew damn well how close the moose were to catching up to them. It felt like trying to walk out of an ocean when his feet were weighed down with lead and the tide rose with his every step.

But there was something…

...something…

... _something_ that sparked in Keith’s mind. Something indescribable. Not quite deja vu, but...similar. Like dreaming of a memory of a dream. Something about carrying a total stranger through the woods felt like it was important somehow. Like he was supposed to be doing it.

But...it was certainly strange. Keith had saved countless people, and this wasn’t the first time he’d had to carry someone out of harm’s way on his back. There should have been nothing different about this situation than there had been about any of the others.

And yet there was.

Something pushed at Keith with a force so powerful that it nearly knocked him over, and it was more than enough to yank him out of his thoughts. It didn’t take a genius for Keith to realize that one of the moose had rammed him and that the player on his back had taken the brunt of the impact.

Keith cursed and just barely managed to keep himself from tumbling forward. The person he was carrying swayed and nearly fell, but Keith still somehow managed to keep him upright.

“What’s the damage?” Keith called, continuing to walk toward the edge of the forest. They were so close. He could see the flags. The moose wouldn’t leave their territory. If they could just reach the edge...

“More than half of his HP’s gone,” said Chuchule sharply. “I can’t spare the time or the MP to heal him. Our only chance is to keep walking.”

“You mean _his_ only chance,” hissed Keith. He gripped the player’s thighs and hiked him up higher on his back. He could feel emulated breath on his shoulder.

“If you didn’t want to save him, you wouldn’t have,” chided Chuchule, wisdom mixed into the distress in her voice. “You have a kind heart, Keith. Too kind to leave him on his own in those woods.”

Keith clenched his teeth. There was no point in arguing, and there was no reason to tell her that she was right when she already knew.

“...Keith?”

“What?”

“...I don’t have enough MP for another attack, and I don’t have enough HP to sacrifice for more.”

“I have potions in my bag—”

“There’s no time for me to crawl down and find them. Keith…”

Keith picked up his pace. The tiny sliver of stamina he’d managed to regain by pacing himself began to deplete from his gauge.

“Keith, they’re gaining on us.”

There was nothing he could do. Nothing he could do but walk. If he moved any faster, they wouldn’t even make it to the forest’s edge at all, much less before the moose reached them.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”

_Don’t apologize. We’re not done yet._

Thundering hooves rumbled against the floor, drawing closer and closer, and then…

And then they stopped.

Keith’s knees buckled and hit the ground, and he barely had the soundness of mind to make sure the player in his arms fell forward and away from the forest’s edge rather than back toward it when he dropped him.

The player hit the dirt hard, and Keith had no doubt that he lost a few more hit points in the process, but it wouldn’t be nearly enough to kill him.

Keith stole a glance over his shoulder, past the very tired-looking mouse, toward the moose that pawed at the ground just a few feet behind him.

A breathless, disbelieving chuckle fell from Keith’s lips and he let himself slump forward.

“I’ve had...the worst day,” he admitted, words muffled by his cheek pressing into the ground. He barely even noticed the sharp stones that poked into his face.

“You survived it, though,” said Chuchule’s bell-like voice. “So, what now?”

“Drag myself to the potion shop,” grumbled Keith, letting his eyes close. “Grab a Yellow Potion. Warp home. Sleep for a week.”

“I meant about the person you so bravely rescued.”

Keith sighed sharply and rolled onto his back. He was so exhausted that he was almost surprised to realize that he actually registered Chuchule hopping off of him and onto the ground before she wound up crushed.

Then, with aching, tired arms, Keith raised his hands as if placing them over an invisible keyboard.

And then the keyboard became visible, along with a translucent screen.

“What’s the innkeeper’s name?” he mumbled faintly.

“Coran,” said Chuchule.

“Right,” sighed Keith, and he began to type.

 

* * *

 

“So he just left me there?” demanded Lance, furrowing his brow. “At the edge of the woods?”

“Only because he knew you’d be safe there,” said Coran, his cup raised to his lips. “Better than _in_ the woods, eh?”

“How did I wind up here, then?” asked Lance, taking an absent sip of his tea and then grimacing. It wasn’t a bad flavor, really, just...odd. Like warm yogurt.

“Eight vargas after logging out—so that’s two of your hours—your character is sent back home, wherever your home might be.” Coran shrugged. “Did you expect characters to be left around if people quit the game permanently? The whole blasted game would wind up looking like a mass grave.”

Lance pictured it, and when he winced that time, it wasn’t because of the tea. “So...did Keith tell you where he was going in the letter?”

“No,” said Coran. “Just ‘home’. And I wouldn’t recommend trying to figure out where he lives. Aside from that being a bit creepy, I doubt you’ll be able to find it at all. Like I told you, he’s mysterious. When he disappears, he _disappears_.”

Lance frowned into the oddly matte surface of his tea, which was roughly the color of a pale person’s sunburned skin.

He was going to find Keith again.

He swore he was.

But the thing was, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he found him.

Either he was going to kick Keith’s ass, like he’d originally planned, or he was going to thank him.

 _Both_ , thought Lance, scrunching his nose. _I can totally do both._

 

* * *

 

Letter sent and goodbyes to Chuchule spoken, Keith climbed to his feet, groaning painfully. A status ailment blinked at him from the corner of his vision, telling him what he already knew, that he’d let his stamina meter stay too low for too long and now he was ‘Sore’. No amount of healing would make that go away. Soreness only went away with time and lots of rest, which he’d only get at home.

Just as Keith began to limp toward the potion shop, something stopped him in his tracks. Something that would have been innocent enough in the real world, but stood out as very, very strange in Altea.

“ _Hunk…_ ”

Keith whipped around, knife drawn, ready to fight despite the fact that part of his mind had already figured out what was going on.

The player was talking in his sleep.

Keith lowered his weapon slowly, brow knitted, jaw clenched.

That shouldn’t have been possible. If the player logged out and removed his headset, there should have been nothing connecting his mind to the game anymore. Speech, especially subconscious speech, should have been impossible.

So why was it that Keith swore he’d just heard a word?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -incoherent sleepy mumbling-


	9. Perfect

Matt watched with delighted satisfaction as Muldok the White Werewolf finally collapsed and sent wisps of white light swirling and spiraling into the air.

“Not bad,” called the warm, confident voice at Matt’s back. “That fight was too easy, though.”

“Easy?” Matt rolled his eyes and turned around. “Shiro, that took us four tries. We had to stop to grind for gold so we could get better armor, and we still got our butts handed to us. Do you see how many hit points I have left? It’s in double-digits.”

“It still only took us four tries,” said Shiro, a soft, half-formed smile on his lips, the same smile that always turned Matt’s stomach into a circus contortionist, just as effective when it was on his character’s face rather than his own. “We should be struggling more this late in the game. It’s made for parties of four. Not two.”

“Well, we’re just really good at the game. That’s all.” Matt grinned. “A speedrunner could probably do it faster, and on their own.”

“We’re not _that_ good,” insisted Shiro, still smiling. “You’re still almost out of HP, and most of that comes from attacks you could have avoided.”

“Well, yeah,” admitted Matt. “But most of those happened because I was trying to keep _you_ from getting hit.”

“I’m the tank,” argued Shiro, quirking an eyebrow. “I’m _supposed_ to get hit.”

“Like that applies when it’s just the two of us.” Matt crossed his arms over his chest. “And anyway, I survived, right?”

“Barely,” teased Shiro. He shoved Matt’s arm, and despite being playful, it was still strong enough to send Matt stumbling back.

“Hey, careful, Mr. Tank,” protested Matt, rubbing his shoulder. “Double-digits, remember? I’d probably die if I scratched my nose too hard.”

Shiro’s smile turned sympathetic. “Sorry. But seriously, good work.”

“You, too,” said Matt.

“Ready to head back to town and talk to the ambassador?”

“Not yet.”

Shiro’s smile disappeared. “Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong, just…” Matt rubbed the back of his neck. “This is the closest we’ve gotten to seeing each other in person since you left, so I, uh… I wanted to ask you something.”

Twenty different expressions flashed across Shiro’s face, and Matt recognized every single one of them. Concern, curiosity, fear, uncertainty— “Sure. Go ahead.”

Matt took a deep breath. “Shiro… Do… Do you ever…”

The worry in Shiro’s eyes grew all the more noticeable, and Matt’s stomach seemed to turn upside-down. He closed his eyes, unable to look at that worry a second longer.

“Do...you ever think…”

_This isn’t going to work. There’s no way. I can’t do this. I can’t._

“...Do you ever think about what the perfect game would be like?”

The words spilled out of him so rushed that Matt wasn’t entirely sure of what he’d just said until the words were already in the open. He’d just asked the first question that came to mind that had nothing to do with what he’d been meaning to ask.

Warily, slowly, he opened his eyes, and he found Shiro staring at him, eyebrows raised, but the worry in his expression almost completely gone.

“Are you sure that’s all you wanted to ask?”

“Yep,” said Matt, lying hastily. “I’ve just… I’ve been thinking about making my own game for a while. I’ve got a whole notebook full of ideas…” At least that much wasn’t a lie. “I just wanted to know if you had anything you wanted to add.”

Shiro sighed, and the last lines of anxiety on his forehead smoothed out. “You mean besides harder boss battles?”

“Of course,” said Matt, rubbing his arm.

“Well…” A thoughtful frown captured Shiro’s expression, and he crossed his arms. “I guess I’d like more detailed skies.”

“Skies?” Matt raised his eyebrows. “Huh, interesting. Elaborate?”

“Different types of clouds,” said Shiro. “Weather patterns that make meteorological sense. Constellations that change with the season and the time of night, that were accurate enough to use as a map if you had the right tools and know-how.”

“Huh…” Matt, having almost forgotten about what he’d initially meant to ask, put a hand on his chin, suddenly lost in thought. “That’s...actually a cool idea. Why didn’t I ever think of that?”

“Because it’s not reasonable,” said Shiro. Matt glanced up for just a moment, just long enough to catch him smiling. “Too much effort for something that only a few people would appreciate.”

“No such thing as too much effort,” said Matt, who was already halfway into planning exactly what Shiro had proposed.

“What about you?” asked Shiro, pulling Matt out of his mental mapping. "What about your dream game? What would you put into it?"

“Too much,” said Matt, waving his question away. “I’ve got a whole notebook, Shiro. We’d be here all night.”

“So name one thing,” said Shiro. “The one thing you’re most excited to work on out of everything you’ve thought up.”

Matt dropped his hand, and with it, his train of thought. He stood up straight, squared his shoulders, and opened his hands at his sides. “Come here for a second.”

Shiro raised his eyebrows, visibly unsure of what Matt was planning, but still, he uncrossed his arms, and he walked closer.

Matt leaned closer and pulled Shiro into a hug that felt nothing like a hug at all.

“Wh—?”

He dismissed Shiro’s surprise in favor of closing his eyes, holding him tighter, and just...pretending. The character he was hugging looked nothing like Shiro. It didn’t have his black hair or the familiar shoulder Matt used to bury his face in on rough days. His smile was replicated simply enough—most modern games had figured out muscle movements—but his soulful, brown eyes weren’t so easily copied.

There was no warmth in the embrace. Shiro’s chest was a little too broad. Matt couldn’t even feel the ridges of Shiro’s armor squashing against his cheek—it was just a vague sense of resistance, like the repelling force of a magnet. All he could feel was Shiro’s hitbox.

“Matt… What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” mumbled Matt. “I’m hugging you. You act like I’ve never hugged you before.”

“Maybe because you haven’t?” offered Shiro. “Not through VR, at least.”

“And why is that, Shiro?” asked Matt. “Why don’t people hug in VR?”

“I...don’t know,” admitted Shiro. “It just...feels weird, I guess.”

“It’s because it doesn’t feel like holding a _person_ ,” said Matt. “It’s like trying to hug a rolled up yoga mat or something. You can’t feel them breathe or hear their heartbeat. It’s not warm. We’ve just...reached the uncanny valley of touch simulation.” He let go of Shiro’s character model slowly, but kept his hands loose on his waist and his gaze downcast. “I want to come out of that valley and wind up on the other side. I want to make touch simulation a main focus. I want people to be able to hug each other when they’re on opposite sides of the world. I want couples to be able to run their fingers through each other’s hair. I want grandparents to get accounts just so they can give their grandkids piggyback rides from different countries. I…” Matt sighed and dropped his hands from Shiro’s sides. “I want a game that feels like the real world, but more magical. I want to build the world I always wanted to be in. And I know I could do it.”

For a long time, Shiro said nothing. Matt thought that maybe he would be able to tell what Shiro was thinking if he could really see his eyes, but in virtual reality, by the shores of different oceans, he knew how impossible that was.

“So why don’t you do it?” asked Shiro.

“Why don’t I make the game?”

Shiro nodded.

“I’m a programmer,” said Matt. “Not an artist. Not a composer. Not a voice actor—”

“I’m an artist,” protested Shiro. “And we both know a composer.”

“Yeah,” said Matt, “but I’d never ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking me,” said Shiro. “I’m offering.”

Matt narrowed his eyes skeptically. “You’re… Are you serious?”

“Look, if helping you make your dream game ends up in a game with a real sky, then I want to be a part of it.” Shiro smiled. “Besides, I wouldn’t mind having an extra excuse to keep in touch with you.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t expecting _that_. “You… Yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Shiro, his smile softening. “You know I miss you, too, right?”

Matt’s heart skipped a beat. “‘Too’?”

“Yeah. ‘Too’.” Shiro chuckled. The deep, warm sound was enough to give Matt goosebumps. “If you just wanted to tell me you wished hugs were more realistic in games, you would have done it. You didn’t need to give me a demonstration. But you did.”

“I was—” Matt’s voice cracked. “I just wanted to—”

“Hug me.” Shiro laughed again. “I know you, Matt. And I know you wanted to hug me. And there’s nothing wrong with that. All you had to do was ask.”

Matt sighed and averted his eyes. “Okay, fine. Yes, I wanted a hug.”

“Do you want another one?” asked Shiro.

Matt turned his eyes back on Shiro, and only upon realizing that Shiro was being completely serious about his offer did he relax.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I definitely, _definitely_ do.”

 

* * *

 

52 quintants. 1248 vargas. 74880 doboshes. 4492800 ticks.

1123200 seconds. 18720 minutes. 312 hours.

Thirteen days.

That’s how long it had been since Lance promised himself he was going to find Keith.

And that’s how many days had passed with no sign of success.

Lance was patient, though. He’d find that kill-stealing, unapproved-warping, inventory-saving jackass if it was the last thing he did.

But that didn’t mean Lance had to obsess over him until that happened.

After the first tea with Coran, it became a morning ritual. Lance would wake up, eat breakfast with Hunk, and then he’d log in to SoA and have tea with Coran, which seemed to range in flavor from warm yogurt to straight maple syrup to what tasted like normal black tea with a cinnamon candy left to melt in the bottom of the kettle.

Through Coran, Lance managed to learn more about the game than he ever could have on his own. He learned about the other villagers, how they had a sleep cycle, took lunch breaks, and interacted with other villagers despite their jobs. How they weren’t always available like they were in other games. However, thanks to time passing four times as quickly in Altea as it did on Earth, there were fair opportunities to catch business hours no matter what time of day you were free to play. It was handy while still keeping a modicum of realism.

Lance also, surprisingly enough, found himself spending a lot of his time making trips to the library. Usually, it was because Coran had whipped up a quest for him, something he could do for some spare gold or a few experience points. He’d pop in, exchange a book for Coran, and he’d usually borrow one of his own as well.

And they’d just sit down in front of the fire, and they’d read.

Lance wasn’t much of a reader. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t enjoy the odd fantasy or cheesy romance, but Lance usually preferred more energetic activities. Spending time with people. Dancing. Cooking with Hunk. Watching movies and getting vocal about the parts he loved and the parts he hated. Reading always felt sort of lonely.

But he’d never read in silence in a room with one other person before. And it wasn’t as lonely as he thought it would be. Just a comfortable silence. Him and Coran, chilling by the fire, reading when the sun was down and the forest was too dangerous to wander through anymore. Lance could learn more about the world, and it was relaxing.

At least, until Coran got vocal.

“Quiznak.” Coran slammed the book he was reading shut and set it aside, glaring at it as if it were the source of all his problems.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Despite all the books I've read and all the people I've asked, I haven't been able to learn a single thing about necklace you found,” said Coran, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting like a child. “I don’t know what it’s called, whether it’s armor, whether it has magical properties, whether it can be sold at a certain shop, whether it’s part of a quest… There’s nothing.”

Lance slipped the necklace out from under his doublet and looked at it with a curious frown. “Maybe it’s just aesthetic.” He shrugged and held it up, letting it catch the firelight. “I mean, it’s kind of simple, but it’s still pretty.”

Coran sighed. “It might be, but it still bothers me that I can’t find anything about it. It could have a hidden effect that only crops up in certain circumstances. Perhaps not a debuff, but an exchange. Like perhaps heightened stamina in exchange for lowered defense when you have less than a fourth of your health remaining. Handy, when used correctly, but very bad if used in the wrong situation—”

“Don’t worry about it, Coran,” said Lance, offering half a smile. “Seriously. If I have to find out about it the hard way, I will.”

Coran fixed him with a frown. “I’d rather you not have to, though. Have you considered taking the necklace off?”

“I’ll have to find out what happens eventually, right?” asked Lance, raising his eyebrows. “Besides, I’m supposed to be spending my time trying new things. That’s what I’ve been employed to do by Mr. Takashi Shirogane himself.”

“Which is why you’ve been spending so much time reading up on the lore, eh, Lance?”

Lance caught Coran’s smirk and sent back a cheeky grin of his own. “I’m looking for typos.”

Just then, something over Coran’s shoulder caught Lance’s eye. A flash of light, far brighter than the flicker of the fire in the fireplace.

Driven by curiosity, Lance stood from his chair before the light began to dim and he walked briskly past Coran to peer through the glass.

Far, far away, pushing past the clouds overhead, was a bright beam of golden light, like a comet, tail and all, arcing toward the earth. It was far, far north, barely even visible, but at the same time, impossible to miss against the dark, cloudy sky.

The light disappeared somewhere in the mountains, but there was still an unmistakable glow in the distance, like a very tiny sun had just set over the horizon.

“Holy...crow…” breathed Lance. “What is that? A meteor?”

“Close enough,” said Coran, catching Lance’s attention and turning it away from the window. “What you’re seeing there is a Fallen Star. It’s a rare item that only appears—”

“I’m getting it.”

“What?!”

Lance pulled back from the window, completely ignoring Coran’s blanched expression. “I’m getting the Fallen Star. You said it’s rare, right? So this might be my only chance to get it.”

“It landed on top of a mountain!” protested Coran, following close behind Lance’s back. “On the northern side! You’ve never even been to the mountains. You’re completely ignorant to the dangers of—”

“I’m still totally getting it.” Lance charged eagerly toward the stairs. “Besides, what do you think I’ve been reading those books for? Do you think I learned nothing? Come on, have a little more faith in me than that.”

“I do have faith in you,” said Coran, following Lance toward the second floor, his every footstep thundering on the wooden steps. “As a person. But you’re still inexperienced.”

“Are there crazy monsters up there?”

“Just some wildlife and—”

“Crazy curses that happen at night like the woods?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Perfect!” Lance rounded the corner into his room and made a beeline for his wardrobe. “So there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Lance, those mountains are _ice cold_ —”

“Yes, Mamá, I’m wearing a jacket.” Lance reached into his wardrobe and pulled out a heavy, long-sleeved robe. He shook it proudly at Coran before beginning to unbutton his doublet.

“It’s going to take more than that, Lance.”

“I’ve got boots.”

“That’s not—”

“And _gloves_.”

“You’ll at _least_ need a—”

“Anything else is gonna take too long.” Lance threw his thief clothes haphazardly into the bottom of his wardrobe and closed the doors.

“T… _Too long_?!” spluttered Coran, aghast. “What do you think will happen that’s so important that you need those spare five minutes?”

“Keith!” said Lance, tugging one of the aforementioned gloves onto his hands. “If it’s rare, he’s gonna want it. And I’m gonna get it before he does.”

“Are you actually going up there to get the item?” demanded Coran. “Or are you just trying to find Keith again? Because there’s no guarantee he’ll be there, you know. He wasn’t in the woods when you triggered Drazil again and nearly died—”

“Hey, I was prepared! I brought my own Yellow Potion and everything!” Lance tugged his other glove on. “And anyway, I just wanted to see the boss I missed out on! And I did. So there’s that.”

“—and he never showed up in the potion shop, even though you spent an entire quintant in there—”

“I wasn’t looking for him!” insisted Lance, hopping around awkwardly, trying to pull his boot on without bothering to sit. “I was just talking to the shopkeeper! He’s a cool guy. Great voice.”

“—and you couldn’t ask Chuchule because you already got the magic from her, so she wasn’t so easily found—”

“Hey!” Lance’s boot slipped out from his hands and his foot brought it down to the floor. He stomped into the boot and wiggled his foot around until it slipped in. “I just wanted to talk to her. She’s a nice mouse lady. I wanted to apologize for bouncing in the middle of a conversation. That’s not polite. My mamá raised me better than that.”

“Now, hold on just a minute.” Coran raised a hand and pointed directly between Lance’s eyes, making his eyes cross. “You know just as well as I do that you’ve been searching obsessively for Keith—”

“Have not!” argued Lance petulantly, sweeping Coran’s finger away with the back of his hand and walking past. He paused only to grab the bag lying by the door. “He’s not worth my time.”

“I’m not even going to pretend I believe that,” said Coran sternly, following so close that Lance swore he could feel his snippy words on the back of his neck. “What makes you think this time will be any different? What makes you think that Keith is going to be on the top of that mountain?”

“Because he’s an interfering, kill-stealing jerkwad who wants my stuff,” said Lance, skipping steps down the stairs. “I know he’s gonna be there. And that’s not because I want him to be there, but because he’s gonna try to steal the Star. That’s just who he is. He’s a kill-stealer, and he’s a Star-stealer, and he wants my stuff. And I’m gonna get it before he does. Because it’s rare, and that automatically makes it something I want.” And that was the only— Well, at least the main reason. “Besides, I need to go up the mountains eventually. They’re part of Arus. I need to see _all_ of Arus.”

“You’re not ready,” protested Coran, earning a roll of Lance’s eyes.

“Look, when I get back here with the Fallen Star, you’re gonna see how ready I am.” He reached for the door handle and opened it without sparing even a parting glance over his shoulder. “See you later, Coran.”

“Lance—!”

The door slammed, cutting through Coran's words and leaving only silence.

 

* * *

 

Pidge wasn’t sure where the exact moment was where the forest turned into a jungle.

They didn’t know exactly where the trees and shrubs grew thicker to the point where trying to walk on the ground was futile.

They couldn’t tell where the ground started to get swampy, where the pines disappeared and the vines appeared.

They weren’t sure where different creatures began to spawn, creatures that were stronger, more hostile.

And honestly—

“Aaaaugh!”

—they didn’t care.

Not when they were being chased by whatever _those_ things were.

They were almost like chameleons. Almost. But they were fast. Purple. And their eyes went all the way around.

On top of everything else, there were a lot of them, and they were much better with the trees than Pidge was.

Pidge didn’t dare shapeshift. They had more forms than just the beetle they’d turned into before, but every form they’d figured out thus far was tiny. Definitely tiny enough to be snapped up by a reptilian tongue. As curious of a person as they were, they did not want to find out what the inside of that creature’s mouth looked like.

To make things worse, despite the fact that thieves had favorable stamina, Pidge was running low. Every slippery step on a moss-covered branch knocked it down, shrinking the little green bar further and further until there was nothing left.

And Pidge slipped.

“Shit—!”

They grabbed onto the branch and winced as a solid tenth of their HP shrank from smacking their elbow against the tree limb.

One of the chameleon creatures crept forward, eyes unfocused, white mouth turned down. Several similar creatures swarmed around Pidge, crowding so close that Pidge couldn’t climb up even if they had the stamina.

The first creature’s lips began to part. It raised a black-clawed arm.

Pidge turned away, grimacing, closing their eyes as they braced for the impact, their inevitable game over.

But it never came.

Instead, there was a high-pitched scream. Something inhuman. Like a bird, but wrong in every way. It hurt just as much as Pidge was sure the claws would have, but at least it wouldn’t take down their HP.

Warily, Pidge opened their eyes.

The chameleon creatures were gone, no doubt knocked down to their doom.

And in their place was the strangest bird Pidge had ever seen.

At least, they thought it was a bird. It had plumage like a bird. It had a beak. It was definitely flying.

But its wings...

Those definitely weren’t bird wings.

Those were insect wings. Like a bee’s wings. And its feet—four rather than two—were barbed, curved, like they belonged to a beetle, but they were much bigger.

What was more, it didn’t even have eyes. Just a pyramid-shaped beak with stripes that curved toward the beak’s tip and glowed an odd green.

“Okay, Matt,” breathed Pidge, eyes wide. There was no way Shiro thought up something like that. “What the actual fuck?”

In their shock and meager amounts of terror, Pidge’s grip began to slide, but before they could fall, the bird—insect—whatever it was—swooped behind Pidge and caught them by the collar of their green doublet. Then, as easily as if Pidge was a piece of nesting material rather than a human three times the bird-creature’s size, the creature lifted Pidge up and set them gently on the branch they’d just fallen from.

Pidge gripped the tree limb and swung a leg over to straddle it before they allowed themselves a sigh of relief.

“Okay. Great.”

The bird-creature buzzed like a very large bee as it flew around Pidge’s shoulder to land on the tree in front of them.

Its wings folded down its back, confirming that they were very much an insect’s wings indeed, and it crept closer to Pidge on its hooked feet.

“What are you?” mumbled Pidge. They reached out with a hand, slow and uncertain, and touched the end of the creature’s beak.

The creature squealed, as if it was electronic. And Pidge supposed, in a way, it was.

Either way, the creature seemed friendly.

“So, you saved me, huh? Does that mean you’re on my side?”

Whatever it was, it nudged Pidge’s finger with its beak, earning a quiet laugh.

“I could use a friend in this world.” Shakily, they climbed to their feet and held out a hand.

The creature raised itself as well. It stretched out its wings and climbed into the air to hover at eye-level.

Pidge grinned and tapped its beak. “I’m gonna call you Rover!”

The creature, Rover, squealed happily, and Pidge scratched the feathers—fibers?—at its neck.

“Come on,” said Pidge, walking past Rover along the tree limb, heading in the same direction they were running when they were being chased. “I swear I almost have this maze figured out. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Keith ran his hand along the scales of his resting dragon as he walked, tracing a line from her shoulder all the way to her jaw.

“I know you can’t go all the way up the mountain,” he said softly, resting a hand on his only friend’s cheek. “But do you think you can take me to the base?”

Red opened her great, yellow eye and rolled it back to look at Keith.

Then, exhaling smoke from her nostrils, she sighed, and she pushed herself off the ground, keeping her head low to the grass so that Keith could climb on easily.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling gently, and he moved to her neck to reach up and pull himself over.

As soon as Keith was safely seated, he felt a jostle, and he was lifted up off the ground. He barely had time to hold on before Red took off.

“Impatient as always,” sighed Keith, leaning close.

Honestly, he was impatient, too.

Fallen Stars were so rare, and if he could use this one to his advantage, then maybe, just maybe, he’d have the leverage he needed to finally defeat Zarkon.

 _Or_ , thought Keith, his narrow eyes trained on the cloud-obscured beacon in the distance, _maybe it’s just one more thing I’ll lose._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH HELL I WENT THROUGH TO GET THIS UPDATED. I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT.  
> I wound up giving my Discord peeps the chapter early because AO3 wasn't LOADING because my INTERNET WAS SO BAD.  
> How bad does your internet have to be when AO3 doesn't load?  
> ...fer cryin' out loud...


	10. Recover

Matt removed his headset and let it fall to the bed beside him and roll away from his fingers.

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” asked a voice from Matt's futon at the far wall.

Matt groaned and threw an arm over his eyes. “Pidge, how long have you been in here?”

“I dunno.” The quiet sound of typing on a laptop keyboard was enough to give Matt a vague idea. Long enough for them to get comfortable. “All I know is that you swore up and down that you were gonna tell Shiro today, and I can tell you didn’t.”

Matt lifted his arm to send Pidge a scowl, only to find that he was getting one right back.

With a sigh, he flopped his head back down to the bed.

“I can’t tell him,” he said resolutely.

“Wait…” The typing stopped. “Like ever? Matt—”

“I don’t…” Matt pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, nudging his glasses out of the way in the process. “I don’t want him to start second-guessing every hug or…wondering if everything I do has a romantic connotation attached to it. I don’t want him to feel weird every time I put an arm around him.”

“What happened to ‘He’s my best friend and he deserves to know’?” asked Pidge, their voice unusually somber.

“He _does_ deserve to know,” said Matt, letting his hands fall away, glasses askew. His view of the ceiling was blurred. “But he deserves to know that I see him as a friend first and as a crush way, way later down the list. I don’t know how to explain that. I don’t think there _is_ a way to explain that. So I just…” He dropped his gaze to the wall nearest him, opposite Pidge. “...won’t.”

A great deal more than a beat passed. Matt heard the snap of Pidge’s laptop closing, the squeak of the futon, the creak of a few steps across the carpeted floor, and then...nothing.

Wary, confused, Matt looked to the side of his bed, and he saw Pidge. They were sitting on the floor, one arm raised, hand open.

Matt felt his smile creep onto his lips unbidden, and he rolled onto his side to hold the hand in a tight, amicable grip.

He got a squeeze in return. “Shiro’s always going to love you,” said Pidge, resting their chin on their arm. “Always. Even if it isn’t the way you want him to feel about you, and even if he doesn’t know how to talk to you for a while, he’s still always going to love you.” They managed a small smile. “And so will I, so even if Shiro turns out to be the jerk we both know he’s not, then you’ll still have me to fall back on.”

A rush of affection flooded through Matt. Pidge could definitely be a pain in his butt when they wanted to be, but they knew when to be serious, and Matt genuinely loved them for that.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “Maybe I’ll tell him eventually, and if I do, I’ll try to keep that in mind, but—”

“But you’re not ready yet, right?” Pidge’s grip on Matt’s hand tightened. “That’s okay. It’s not like I’m gonna drag you all the way across the country and lock you in a room with him until you confess. I wouldn’t even do that if he was in the same town. The choice is still yours. I just want you to know that you’ve got backup.”

Matt had to try his hardest to keep himself from tearing up. “Yeah. I know.” He sniffed. “You know you can lean on me, too, right? If you ever run into a problem like this, or—”

“Not likely,” said Pidge. They climbed onto the edge of Matt’s bed, still holding Matt’s gaze. “But I’ll keep that in mind. Just in case.”

“Well, even if it’s not a problem like _this_ , I’m still always going to have your back. No matter what you’re dealing with.” His smile softened. “I’m always gonna be here for you, Pidge.”

Pidge smirked. “You can’t _always—_ ”

Matt yanked Pidge down by their joined hands and trapped his younger sibling in a bone-crushing hug.

“Hey—!”

“I’ll _always_ be there. I _promise_.”

 

* * *

 

It was supposed to be easy. Lance swore it was supposed to be easy. And at the bottom of the mountain, it was. The climb was gradual. _Easy._

And then the incline began to grow exponentially. It curved upward fast. There were points where it was so steep that Lance found himself wishing for a 45-degree angle. 

And Coran wasn’t kidding with what he said about the weather.

It was getting _cold_.

The higher Lance climbed, the colder it was. Grass gradually gave way to snow. The starry sky was replaced by black clouds. The wind picked up, cutting cold as if it carried sharp stones instead of snowflakes.

But it certainly carried snowflakes.

Lots...and lots...of snowflakes.

Lance could barely make out the beacon anymore. Only the faintest yellow glow broke through the fog. Lance could barely tell where he was going. All he knew was that every step he took seemed to make him feel a degree colder.

“Okay,” he muttered, his arms wrapped tight around his shaking body. “So...maybe Coran was right. It’s...actually really cold up here.” Lance ducked his head between his shoulders in a poor attempt to shield his freezing neck from the harsh wind that tugged at his robes. He swore the wind was ripping his face apart. Nothing else could excuse the stinging cold. Was it supposed to hurt so much, or was that an error? Lance had been attacked by anything from wildlife to monsters over the past two weeks, and it was hard to miss the glass ceiling that pain seemed to reach when it came to enemy attacks. The pain was there, but it never actually felt worse than a stubbed toe or a papercut. Most of it was emulated with tinnitus and dizziness, just like with most other games.

But the wind… The ice cold wind… It was the worst pain Lance had felt in all of his time on Altea. It was like his skin was being peeled away layer by layer. Like he’d just surfaced from an ice cold lake and he was gasping for air, like he couldn’t breathe because the cold was crushing his lungs.

Like he was dying.

Panic tightened around Lance’s stomach, pulled at every muscle in his arms and legs, threatened to curl him into a ball without his permission. Lance clenched his teeth and shook the snow from his hair.

“I’m okay,” he muttered. “I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m _fine_.”

He ignored the pit in his stomach, ignored the buzzing in his head, ignored the heart in his throat, ignored the tears prickling at his eyes, and he lifted his feet out of the snow to trudge onward.

He had to keep going. He had to keep moving. He refused to let himself be stopped. He would need to reach the top of the mountain eventually. He had to test every inch of Arus. If he couldn’t handle one brief excursion to the top of the mountain and back, how was he supposed to test for bugs there? How was he supposed to do his job?

Lance’s foot sank deep in a pile of snow that reached above his knee.

A timer appeared in front of his face, big and bright blue, adorned with a cheerful little snowflake that contrasted vividly against Lance’s horror.

❄ ５：００

 

* * *

 

Red landed at the base of the mountain and waited until Keith had climbed safely down before shaking her mane out, fluffing out the hair that had been flattened by Keith's weight.

“Thanks, Red,” said Keith softly, patting his girl’s cheek. “I can take it from here.”

To Keith’s surprise, Red growled. Keith retracted his hand cautiously and tucked it neatly under his cloak.

“What? What’s going on?”

Red’s tail, curled up by her front feet, flicked irritably. She turned her head, and Keith followed her gaze. Several meters up the mountain, where the patches of snow began to grow thicker, were a set of footprints, prints that flattened and melted the snow all the way down to the grass.

“Huh.” Keith’s eyebrows drew together. He frowned, curious more than anything. Most Arusians wouldn’t climb the mountain. The only ones who did were those who lived on the mountain itself, and their footprints were much bigger. They didn’t wear shoes, either, and those footprints were too round to be bare feet.

“You don’t think…?” Keith looked through the corner of his eyes at Red.

The look she sent back gave Keith the feeling that, yes, she _did_ think.

Keith sighed. “Well, whoever it is can’t be too far ahead.” He reached up to pat Red’s muzzle one last time before walking past.

“Let’s just hope we’re wrong.”

 

* * *

 

The large number shrank into the corner of Lance’s vision, and what was left of the color in Lance’s face drained away.

❄ ４：５９

❄ ４：５８

He had five minutes.

Five minutes.

Five minutes until _what_? Until he _froze solid_?

Lance took a step back, then another, hoping he’d just crossed a barrier, or maybe that he wasn’t supposed to get caught in snow that deep, but the seconds just kept ticking away, slipping out of his grasp like water through cupped hands.

❄ ４：５５

❄ ４：５４

Something in the back of Lance’s mind whispered something so quiet, so simple. Something utterly false that felt so true.

_I’m going to die._

In his panic, Lance latched tight onto the last objective his mind had been given.

_Get to the Fallen Star._

_You’re so close._

_Just get to the Star._

_Get to the Fallen Star, and everything will be fine._

Lance began to run. He ran as if the timer was behind him, as if he could get away from it. He ran like the stamina gauge that popped up beside the clock meant nothing. He ran as if he was running toward safety instead of far away from it.

❄ ４：３３

The way Lance shook was from far more than the cold. Every step was clumsy and uncooperative. He fell and he climbed back to his feet and he ran and he fell again. Every time he hit the ground, he lost five more precious seconds.

❄ ４：０１

Lance couldn’t feel the cold anymore.

He couldn’t feel anything but the fear.

❄ ３：５５

The corners of his vision were fading to black. Everything was growing blurry, gray, like static on a television.

Lance had never seen the game do that before.

Was that normal?

❄ ３：４８

Lance tripped again and fell to one knee. He couldn’t get up. His muscles all seemed to lock in place.

For the first time, he noticed how hard it was to breathe.

A delirious, unhinged, too-calm thought passed Lance’s mind as the rest of his vision was consumed by gray and black.

_Oh._

❄ ３：４２

_That’s not the game._

❄ ３：４１

_That’s me._

❄ ３：４０

Vaguely, Lance registered the softness of the snow as he fell face-first into it, not to get up.

 

* * *

 

Keith drank another bottle of Yendailian Fire Oil and shivered as it coursed through his body, warming him, but strengthening the terrible taste that had been in his mouth from the first bottle. It was disgusting, but at least it kept Keith alive on his way to the peak of the mountain.

The beacon from the Fallen Star still shone as bright as ever as proof that it hadn’t yet been claimed. It was like a searchlight, like it was looking for someone to come along and pick it up. Take it home. And Keith was eager to do so.

But his eyes fell from the beacon to the snow, where footprints continued to climb higher and higher up the mountain. Though “footprints” might have been a strong word for what they were. It was probably more accurate to say that a shallow trench had been carved into the snow, marking where the traveler before Keith had walked. Not only were they not using any sort of float effect to keep them on top of the snow, but they weren’t even picking their feet up very high.

The more Keith saw of the traveler’s trail, the more worried he was. Whoever was walking ahead of Keith, they were clearly unprepared. Keith was surprised that they had lasted as long as they had. They must have seen the Star and taken off, driven by greed. Maybe it was a shopkeeper, or a treasure hunter. Maybe an Unilu who made it out of Olkarion.

At first, Keith thought it might have been the boy from before. The game tester. But there was no way he would have made it so far up the mountain, not with his track record. Whoever made it this far up the mountain would have had to have at least worn weather-appropriate clothing, and that hopeless case couldn’t even wear _class_ -appropriate clothing. No, whoever was walking up the hill in the glow of the beacon and the dim moonlight at least knew what they were doing. They were just in a rush.

And the further the footprints stretched, the more rushed the person leaving them seemed to be. The trenches grew wider. More snow was kicked up and pushed into mounds, indicating that whoever made the trench was moving a lot faster, probably running.

Keith picked up his pace to a steady jog. If they were running, they probably had a frozen status. Hopefully, they weren’t too far ahead. Hopefully, Keith could catch up and offer some of his oil.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t be too late.

Keith rounded the side of the mountain, following the footprints around what could have been called a hairpin curve were a road built into it, and in the fog, through the blizzard, through the wind and the darkness, Keith saw a figure. A silhouette.

He watched that silhouette fall to its knees, then collapse.

“Hey!” Keith sprinted toward the shadow and kneeled in the snow, sinking more than an inch when he dropped down to grab whoever it was who had fallen.

Keith paled.

It _was_ the player. The one from before.

Keith wasn’t sure whether to be impressed at the player’s learning curve—it must have been, what, only two weeks on Earth, and yet he was dressed in a particularly thick mage’s outfit, indicating he’d at least learned _something_ about _weather effects_ —or frustrated that his seven-movement streak of not needing to save the same damn person had been broken.

He lasted fifty movements on his own, only to wind up inches from death with Keith responsible for him again.

_“No, you don’t understand. It wasn’t fully his fault; he had a panic attack—”_

Keith sighed and reached up to loosen his cloak from his shoulders. There was no telling how much time he had left, not without being able to form a group with him, but however long he had, keeping him warm would make it last longer.

Once the player was wrapped safely in Keith’s cloak, Keith pulled him against his chest.

“You’re in luck,” mumbled Keith. He climbed to his feet with a grunt, and the stranger’s head lolled forward, pressing his chin against his own sternum. “I’m not wearing my metal armor right now. Should be much more comfortable when you’re not curled up against a cold, hard chest plate, right?”

Keith looked up at the peak of the mountain and narrowed his eyes. He didn’t have to weigh his options to know that trying to make it back to the capital was a bad idea. Even if the player Keith rescued had just started running out of time before Keith found him, they still wouldn’t make it to the foot of the mountain before the player’s countdown reached zero.

But if they could make it just a little bit further up the mountain…

Keith held the boy in his arms tighter and began to walk, his feet sinking into the snow; he was too heavy with the player’s added weight for the float potion to matter anymore. The wind was a lot harsher without Keith’s cloak, and if he stayed out there for much longer, he knew he’d be in just as much trouble as the player in his arms was, with Yendailian Oil or without it. But he’d made up his mind a long time ago that he was never going to abandon a single person. Not when they needed him.

Unfortunately, resolve alone wasn’t enough to keep the shiver out of Keith’s shoulders. Every step was miserable. He felt the snow in every bone and every joint. It was awful, just like the first time Keith laid eyes on the very mountain he was climbing and decided he had to see what was at the top. No preparation back then. No strategy. Just curiosity and recklessness.

Back then, though, it was feasible. Everything was so easy.

It was scary how fast Keith’s world had changed.

From up ahead, at a brief dip in the mountain, a blue light flickered, catching Keith’s eye. Relief flooded through him and he picked up his pace, holding the boy in his arms tighter. The distance between himself and the light closed fast, and in barely under five doboshes, Keith and the boy reached the door of the Bluve Chapel.

Keith, with a fair amount of struggle, pushed the door open, and he carried the player in his arms inside.

It was like walking into a sauna compared to the outside. Warmth poured into Keith from all angles save from the open door behind him. He closed it quickly by pressing against the door with his back, and only once it was closed did he bother to take a look around the chapel.

He’d never been inside the chapel. He’d walked past it on more than one occasion, and he’d heard some of the people he’d met in the mountains talk about it, but he had no reason to visit it himself. He wasn’t a healer, and there was certainly no _other_ reason he’d need a chapel. At least, not before that night. But Keith was definitely grateful it was there.

According to Matt’s reports, he and Shiro eventually decided that they liked the world of Altea without background music, but Keith had always wondered whether there were exceptions to the rule. He’d never found one before, though he supposed he should have predicted that one of those exceptions would have been in a chapel. The music was pretty, but odd. It sounded like choir music, maybe, but it was as if it was coming from another room, or like Keith was listening to it from underwater. In fact, the whole chapel felt like it was underwater. The only light in the chapel came from underneath the two deep canals that ran along either side of the chapel, which explained the blue glow from the windows that signaled Keith to the chapel while he was in the blizzard. That same blue glow bathed everything in the chapel in a dim, comforting light that made Keith feel safe and calm.

He knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet, though. Not really. The warmth might have stopped the player’s clock from counting down, but the numbers wouldn’t increase and the clock wouldn’t disappear until the player’s status was cured.

A splash caught Keith’s ear, and he watched as a great deal of water from the far end of the chapel rose out of one of the canals and swarmed around a woman Keith hadn’t noticed prior. Her eyes were a deep, serene blue that reached all the way into her sclerae. Wide, yellow-scaled loops that looked closer to green in the blue light wrapped from the sides of her head all the way to the back. Her turquoise earrings moved to and fro with the motion of the water she’d surrounded herself in, and a loose, dress-like fin that stretched from her waist to the floor wrapped tight around her legs until her entire lower half transformed seamlessly into a long, elegant tail.

“Welcome to Bluve Chapel,” greeted the woman, her voice coming crystal clear through the water. Keith had never heard a merperson’s voice before. They were built for water, and when they spoke in open air, the result was normally akin to the way the chapel’s music sounded in Keith’s ears. Signing was usually customary when a merperson spoke on land. Not that Keith could really sign when his hands were occupied. “I assume you are not here to elope with the person you’re carrying.”

Keith recoiled at the very idea. “ _No_ ,” he said firmly. “I’m _not_. We’re just here to get away from the snow. That’s it.”

“I thought so,” said the mermaid without an ounce of hesitation despite Keith’s tone. “In that case, if you follow the flight of stairs to your left—” The woman gestured to a narrow, spiral staircase. “—there is a guest room upstairs. Stay as long as you like, and feel free to make use of any and all amenities provided, particularly the Balmeran Cave Root. You should find it in the cabinet above the wood stove.”

Keith sighed, and his shoulders drooped marginally, not enough to loosen his grip on the person he was carrying. It seemed like all of his problems were solved. That was almost too easy.

“Thank you,” said Keith softly.

“Of course,” said the mermaid. “All are welcome in Bluve Chapel. All are safe and warm.”

Keith tried to work up a smile. Merpeople could be...strange sometimes.

With a shake of Keith’s head, Keith made his way toward the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Pidge hugged the tree they were straddling for dear life and pressed their forehead to the bark. It pushed the rim of their glasses into their brow, cutting their short temper even shorter.

“One of these days,” they muttered, “I’m going to regret all the things I do for video games.”

But apparently, it wasn’t that day. At least, judging by the way they were trying to shimmy around a tree that was at least as wide as Hunk without slipping before they reached the limb on the other side.

“This can’t be the way you’re supposed to do this,” said Pidge, twisting their neck to glare over their shoulder at the forest floor that must have been hundreds of meters away. “Not like that ever stopped me before. Guess this is what I get for not stocking up on mana restores before I headed out.”

From behind Pidge, Rover voiced a concerned beep.

“Don’t worry,” said Pidge, working up a smile for their companion’s sake. “I’ve done more complicated stuff than this in games before. Even in VR. If I can bomb-glitch my way through a door for a speedrun, I can make it across…” They tentatively shuffled closer to the far limb. “...this…” They tapped the limb with their foot. “...tree!”

The second they put their weight on the limb, their foot slipped right through, as if there was no limb at all despite the fact that Pidge had just been able to touch the limb from a different angle.

A shocked cry tore itself from Pidge’s throat as they fell, and they heard Rover squeal out in terror. They were able to wrap their arms around the tree again, but it wasn’t enough to slow their descent, and the tree’s bark was ripping through Pidge’s hands like a cheese grater. They saw their health bar pop up, but they didn’t dare look at how many hit points they were losing from something so stupid.

Unexpectedly, Pidge’s foot hit a sudden foothold, and that, combined with their grip on the tree, was finally able to halt them in place. Before they could even look down to see what had stopped them, a tug at their clothes pulled them upward, accompanied by the buzz of insect wings.

Pidge sighed, and a small, grateful smile tugged at their lips.

“Thanks, Rover,” they said softly, allowing themselves to be carried to the nearest stable tree limb, which was just a meter above and to the left.

Once they were released, they slid down to sit on the limb and stole a wary look at their scraped, bloody hands.

“Yikes,” they mumbled, folding their hands inward. Nothing a health potion wouldn’t solve, but for the moment, there was a definite sting.

Rover landed on the tree in front of Pidge’s legs and inched forward to rest his cheek on their knee. Pidge reached out and rubbed under Rover’s neck with their knuckle, careful not to get any blood on any of the green feathers. It was definitely handy to have a companion around.

“Okay,” breathed Pidge, turning to the left and peering over the edge of the limb. “Now… What stopped me?”

Their question was answered quicker than expected when their gaze fell upon a distinct metallic sheen that would have been hard to miss even if it hadn’t caught the light.

“Is that...a piton?” Their brow furrowed. “Like, for climbing?”

They exchanged a look with their feathered friend, or tried to, considering Rover had no eyes, before glaring back down at the spike pushed into the wall.

“Who else has been here?”

 

* * *

 

The climb up the stairs wasn’t easy on Keith’s stamina. Carrying someone never was, particularly up any sort of incline. But it wasn’t all bad. At least the door at the top was open.

The room itself was simple. It was just an attic space, slanted ceiling and all. But there was a bed, a wood-burning stove next to a tall stack of chopped wood, and a cabinet over the wood stove and slightly to the right, barely missing the flue that led through the roof.

Keith gently lowered the boy he was carrying onto the bed and bent over him to wrap him in blankets. In doing so, his hand grazed across the boy’s cheek. He really was frozen. If Keith hadn’t found him when he had, he would have been a goner for sure.

But that didn’t really matter. Keith _had_ found him, and everything was fine. There was no reason to dwell on the worst-case scenario of what could have been.

And yet Keith couldn’t convince himself to take his hand away from the player’s cold face. In fact, his right hand joined the first. He pressed both palms to the player’s cheeks, trying to warm him up with hands that weren’t even warm enough to make much of a difference.

Keith withdrew his hands with a frown. He should have been building a fire. That would have been actually helpful.

He moved away from the side of the bed and crossed the room to the wood stove. The door at the front swung open without so much as a squeak of protest from the hinges. The stove was clean. Too clean. Like it had never been used before. As far as Keith knew, that might have been the case, but he wouldn’t have been able to tell either way. Not with how clean everything was in Altea. Shiro and Matt could make a person’s heart beat in a game, but apparently, dust, dirt, and ash accumulating on objects that should have been dirty were just too much.

He never thought he’d miss dust.

With a sigh, Keith grabbed a log from the stack of wood and slid it into the stove. There was kindling provided, as well as flint, but Keith had a better idea. He reached into his pack for another bottle of the same Fire Oil he’d used to keep himself warm and carefully poured a few drops on top of the log. Satisfied, he capped the bottle and put it back before reaching for his knife instead.

When he struck the small puddle of Fire Oil with the end of the blade, it combusted into a fire that could burn for almost five vargas even without the aid of being fueled with wood. With wood, it meant that the fire would be harder to put out, at least for those first five vargas.

Keith fed more wood into the stove, starting with small pieces and waiting until they caught fire before adding more of the bigger logs. The process lasted for almost a varga.

And the player still hadn’t woken up.

Keith stood from where he crouched in front of the stove and carefully closed the door before making his way back to the bed.

If the player had logged out hoping that he’d die and respawn back at the inn, he would have logged back on within the first twenty doboshes. More than twice that amount of time had passed since Keith found him.

If he’d had another panic attack, there was no telling when he’d come back. It might be in a quintant. It might be in a day.

Keith sat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his back turned to the sleeping stranger, his hands clasped.

He hadn’t looked through the window to check for the beacon, but as far as Keith knew, the Fallen Star was still out there. He should have been trying to claim it, but he didn’t like the idea of someone coming back into the game disoriented and scared after a panic attack.

The idea of telling the Sage of the chapel downstairs about what had happened just like he’d told Coran, the innkeeper, and to leave the player in her care, but it wasn’t the same. The innkeeper seemed to know the player. He would have been a familiar comfort. To leave the player with someone who not only knew what happened through hearsay alone but who also was a complete stranger… That didn’t sit well with Keith. Not at all.

If he had to wait four quintants for the player to log back in, then he would. Or, at least, he would try.

But...the Fallen Star.

Keith clenched his teeth and closed his eyes. That Fallen Star could be the end of everything. It could mean the end of Zarkon, the end of the Galra Empire. There would be no more Galra attacks. No more reason to worry about innocent players wandering into things they didn’t understand. It wasn’t really worth the loss of all that to look after one person, was it? For all Keith knew, he could be saving the life of the very person he was trying to protect later down the road.

But Keith knew how it felt to be abandoned. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

A grunt caught Keith’s ear, and he tried not to think too much about the implications of what he’d learned the last time he’d caught the player talking in his sleep.

Thankfully, though, he didn’t have to try too hard, because that was when he got a distraction that was almost impossible to ignore.

“...Oh, no, not Keith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Chapels don’t have any sort of religious connotation in Altea. It’s just a place for healers and marriage ceremonies.
> 
> Also, I wrote half this chapter on small amounts of sleep, so if I did something dumb, I apologize in advance. Please tell me about it. I will fix it.


	11. Enter Name

“So it’s on the western side of Olkarion? How far west?”

“I don’t know. Pidge said it was where the vegetation’s thicker, though, so pretty close to the western border.”

“Wow, that far already? Man, they’re really booking it. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Shiro watched Matt flip all the way to the back of the book he’d loaded into the game. His honey-colored eyes darted down the page like lightning, searching for the error through lines and lines of code, their corners crinkling in fondness.

“I’ll never understand how the two of you read code like you’re reading fiction,” mused Shiro, crossing his arms over the back of one of the crumbling jade lions that decorated the ruins.

“I wouldn’t exactly compare it to fiction.” Matt turned the page. “More like...a painting. A painting I can only see one stroke at a time. And if, say, a stroke is going in the wrong direction, or, in this case, there's a hit detection error—” He tapped a line on the page with his index finger. “—then it messes with the way the whole painting looks. Even in my head.”

Matt set the book down in front of his crossed legs and reached into the tiny pouch at his hip for his quill and ink.

“I probably should have looked over the code one more time before we started testing.” He uncorked his inkwell and dipped the point of his quill in the ink. “That way we’d be cleaning up less now.”

“You act like we’ve been bombarded with errors,” said Shiro, smiling a little in spite of himself. “A few collision issues and someone being thrown into the ceiling isn’t that much considering we’ve been testing for weeks.”

“Still more than I’d like, though,” mumbled Matt. He scribbled something between characters in the code. “Especially what happened to Hunk. Poor guy. I know Pidge said he throws up a lot. I didn’t mean to add to that.”

Shiro rested his chin on his crossed arms and watched Matt put his finishing touches on the book. He looked more like a medieval playwright than a programmer making notes, and the circlet he pulled out of the pouch on his hip did little to help with that.

Book in hand, Matt stood from the ground and walked to one of the trees at the edge of the clearing. He inspected it briefly before placing his free hand flat against the bark and closing his eyes.

Shiro watched from a distance as Matt’s circlet began to glow. Light gathered around his hand like iron filings to a magnet and then shot up the base of the tree, flowing like rivers up and up and up until it spread into the branches and forked in different directions. Six leaves on the tree glowed, quivered, and then they withered into nothing, leaving behind streams of glittering blue light that stretched high into the night sky like spirits.

Matt pulled his hand away from the tree and stepped away. A lock of his bangs fell away from his glasses when he tipped his head back to admire his work.

“I still don’t understand how you do that,” called Shiro, catching Matt’s attention. “How you’re able to turn leaves into code.”

“I’m not turning leaves into code,” said Matt, closing the book in his hand. “The leaves are _already_ code. I’m just switching some of the numbers around. There are just as many ones and zeroes in Altea as there were two minutes ago.”

“So it’s like alchemy?” Shiro lifted his head from his arms and cocked an eyebrow.

“I prefer thinking of it as decomposition.” Matt approached the jade lion Shiro was leaning on from the other side. He had to hop onto its pedestal to be able to reach the lion’s back, but when he did, he crossed his arms over it as well, mirroring Shiro’s pose almost exactly, save for the position of the book he’d tucked into the crook of one arm. “Instead of taking apart a compound and leaving behind the original elements, I’m breaking an asset down into strings of binary. Then I just repurpose them.” A twinkle Shiro knew too well sparked in Matt’s eye. “Kind of like the same reason you can walk through the entrance of the first dungeon in Killbot Phantasm II and wind up at the final boss if you’ve got two lives and an acorn in your weapon slot. At the end of the day, everything here is just a bunch of numbers shoved in the right order. Mess with that order, and you’re basically a god.”

“That’s true if you know how,” said Shiro, smirking. “I’m sure it’s very easy for someone who can think in binary.”

Matt grinned. “You say that like it’s hard.”

A tapping sound reached Shiro’s ear, and he realized that Matt was kicking the statue with the toe of his shoe. He used to do that a lot before they started dating. Once they were comfortable in their relationship, he finally explained it as nervous energy, as being happy around Shiro and worried about embarrassing himself at the same time. The tapping stopped after the first few months of living together, perhaps because Matt finally realized that Shiro knew him inside and out and wasn’t going to stop liking him just because he spilled ramen on the kitchen floor or forgot to throw out the paper towel roll.

It was weird, hearing that tapping again after so long. Like Shiro was caught in the past.

The smile Shiro had been wearing slipped from his features. “I… Sometimes, I forget that you’re not…”

Matt’s eyes widened. The tapping stopped. For a long moment, he just stared at Shiro, lips parted like he was about to say something. Then he took a step back and dropped from the lion statue.

“You know?” he began softly, his face hidden behind the lion’s back. “Sometimes, so do I.”

 

* * *

 

Lance was cold. Really, really cold. That was all he registered at first. That he was wrapped in blankets, but he was cold. Freezing.

He yanked the blankets tighter around himself with a soft grunt. Did they forget to pay their electric bill? No, Lance swore he remembered sending out the payment. He was the one in charge of utilities for the month, and he knew he’d done it. Besides, it was just fall, wasn’t it? Late fall, but still, it wasn’t winter yet. It shouldn’t have been as cold as it was. Maybe he or Hunk accidentally switched the thermostat from heat to air conditioner somehow.

Lance blinked blearily. Dim, orange light filled the room. Fire. A fireplace? His family back home had a fireplace, but their apartment didn’t.

And in his apartment, he definitely didn’t have a cheerful little snowflake icon following Lance around in the corner of his eye.

Like a missing gear had fallen into place, Lance suddenly realized where he was.

He was in Altea. He must have fallen asleep while wearing—

No.

No, he’d passed out.

In the snow.

He didn’t remember passing out, but he could remember being cold and panicking and, well...it wouldn’t have been the first time.

But he wasn’t in the snow anymore, and he wasn’t at the inn, either.

He was somewhere completely new. Someplace with a stove and a slanted ceiling and a cabinet and…

And someone sitting on the edge of the bed Lance was lying in.

Someone Lance shouldn’t have been able to recognize, not when he was a mere silhouette backlit by the fire from the stove, and not when he was wearing warm-looking robes rather than the armor Lance remembered from the last time they'd met. But he still recognized him no less.

He’d know that mullet anywhere.

“Oh, no, not Keith.”

Lance burrowed further into the blankets and pulled them over his eyes, both seeking warmth and simply hoping that somehow Keith would go away if Lance couldn’t see him.

This was not what Lance had in mind when he decided he wanted to see Keith again. It wasn’t at all what he’d envisioned. He was hoping they could meet as equals, that Lance would be able to challenge Keith to some kind of competition, soundly kick his butt, convince Keith that he wasn’t the hopeless case he probably seemed to be.

And what did he do? He went and passed out in the snow, and Keith found him and probably carried him to some little cottage somewhere and nursed him back to health.

Or at least partway back to health. Lance was still freezing his ass off, despite the fire Keith had probably made with his own skill and ingenuity.

And there Lance was the whole time, probably out cold on Keith’s back or over his shoulders or in his arms—God, he hoped he wasn’t carried in Keith’s arms—just dead weight. Completely and utterly pathetic. He couldn’t imagine a more embarrassing way for Keith to find him.

“...Are you _serious_?” rasped Keith, his voice cracking. Lance winced behind the covers he’d pulled over his head. “I’m helping you! What’s _wrong_ with—” He sighed, sharp and heated, and stood from the bed so quickly that the mattress quaked. Lance waited for the slam, the inevitable sign that Keith had left, gone through the door never to return.

But it never came.

Or, rather, there was a slam, but it wasn't the slam Lance expected. It was higher pitched, not as thundering or as harsh as a slamming door. More like...a slamming cabinet.

Wary, Lance wiggled and wormed his head out of the blanket burrito to see if he could find out why he'd heard what he'd heard.

And he saw Keith slamming a pot on top of the stove, dark hair fanning over his tense, angry shoulder. He reached back into the cabinet Lance had heard slam before and began rummaging angrily through it for something. Whatever it was, he must have found it, because he poured it into the pot on the stove...before promptly closing the cabinet on his own finger.

“Quiznak,” he hissed, yanking a glove off and shaking his hand out.

Keith peered over his shoulder, and when he did, the finger he’d smashed was in his mouth.

Lance must have been making a face of some sort, because Keith’s eyes immediately narrowed and he took his finger out of his mouth so fast it was as if he’d burned his tongue. “ _What_?” he snapped.

“Nothing,” said Lance, looking pointedly away.

Okay, so Keith _wasn’t_ perfect. That crack in his otherwise unyielding flawlessness proved as much. He was capable of slamming his fingers into cabinet doors and being a little wimp about it. It might have even been endearing if Keith wasn’t so insufferable in every other aspect.

His grumbling audible from even where Lance sat, Keith turned his attention back to the pot and started swirling the contents around.

Part of Lance was curious enough to want to ask what he was making, why it was so important when the Fallen Star was probably still out there, unclaimed, but there was no way in hell he was about to ask when Keith seemed like he was about to spontaneously combust solely from how miffed he was.

So Lance just watched. He curled up into a ball, pulled his blankets tighter around himself in a poor attempt to get warm, and he watched.

He watched Keith swirl the contents of the pot again and again. Watched him reach into his bag and add a few drops of something in a small bottle. Watched him poke the fire in the stove with his sword and add another log.

And he watched Keith’s shoulders slowly relax, his grip on the pot handle become a little less white-knuckled, his grumbling gradually disappear.

By the time he was done cooking whatever it was he was cooking—or crafting whatever he was crafting, as was probably more likely—Keith seemed almost approachable. Almost. Lance definitely wasn’t about to get up and cross the room to start a conversation, but at least the storm that was brewing over Keith’s head had quelled to spring-shower levels.

Keith sighed and lifted the pot off the stovetop before opening the cabinet above the stove again, this time with a much slower, more patient hand. He plucked something out of the cabinet that Lance thought was a short, fat seashell before Keith began to pour the contents of his pot into the “shell”.

He turned around so fast that the black ends of his robe-like garment kicked up like the hem of a skirt. Lance watched some of the anger from before rise into his neutral expression, but thankfully not as much as there was before; Lance wasn’t sure how well he’d take someone stomping up to him as angry as Keith had been before.

Keith stood at the side of Lance’s bed for long enough that it began to feel weird. Lance sat up straighter, coming out of the ball he’d curled himself into despite the fact that he was still freezing, just to try to get a little closer to eye level with Keith.

“Give me your hands,” said Keith firmly.

Lance narrowed his eyes, and with a great deal of difficulty, he wriggled out of his blankets. “There. Are you happy now?”

Keith responded by pushing the swirled, shell-like dish into Lance’s hands. “Drink this.”

Lance skeptically inspected the contents of the dish. It was a muddy sort of color with an oddly sweet smell. “This isn’t going to send me back to the inn again, is it?” asked Lance, glaring at Keith.

Keith looked back at him with a steady expression. “Would it matter if it did?”

Lance’s frown deepened. So at that point, maybe it would be a blessing in disguise. He wasn’t looking forward to going out into the snow again, even if the Fallen Star _was_ still out there. But he still wanted to know what he was getting into. “So what will it do?”

“It’ll warm you up,” said Keith sharply. “That’s it.” He turned so suddenly that the pot he was still holding nearly hit Lance in the head.

“Watch it!” snapped Lance, holding the cup in his hands tighter to his chest.

Keith didn’t answer. He just reached into the cabinet for a second cup without a word.

Lance grumbled and looked down at his own cup for a half-second longer before tentatively lifting it to his lips and taking a slow, cautious sip.

Whatever it was, it was definitely hot. And sweet.

It was a little bit spicy, too.

And...

_Hold on…_

Lance took another sip, and his eyes widened. He was so excited that he barely remembered to swallow before he blurted out the realization of a lifetime.

“This is Aztec hot chocolate!” Lance lifted a hand from the cup to point accusatorily at Keith. “Why didn’t you just tell me it was Aztec hot chocolate?!”

“Because it’s not,” said Keith, his back still turned toward Lance, mid-pour. “It’s Balmeran Root Soup with Yendailian Fire Oil. One cures the Freezing status and one prevents it.”

“And it totally tastes exactly like Aztec hot chocolate,” said Lance. “Which you could have told me if you weren’t being all weird and cryptic. Along with telling me what it actually _does._ I would have tried it a lot sooner if I knew it wasn’t gonna do something weird.”

“You wouldn’t have believed me,” said Keith, setting the pot down. “You didn’t before.”

“What are you _talking about_?” demanded Lance.

“The Yellow Potion,” said Keith. “I told you it wasn’t poison.”

“Yeah,” said Lance. “And I _drank it_. Because you told me it wasn’t poison. But, again, you could have just _told me what it did_.”

“You wouldn’t have used the potion if you knew what it was.”

“You don’t know that. And you definitely didn’t know then.”

“I had a feeling. Couldn’t risk it.”

“Why not?” Lance pulled his knees to his chest again; the hot chocolate was doing its work, but he was still cold. “What’s so bad about me dying? I mean, I’ve been playing for almost two weeks and I still haven’t tested anything on dying.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” said Keith. He finally turned around, cup in his hands. “Try to keep from dying as long as possible.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Wow, that explains everything about why I shouldn’t do it. Thanks for being so helpful. You’re a real guardian angel.” He aimed a glare at Keith’s head. “Seriously, why? Is there a glitch? Do I lose all my equipment permanently? Does it set me back to level 1?”

Keith met Lance’s glare with one of his own, but he said nothing.

“So you’re just not gonna tell me anything.” Lance sighed heatedly. “Why did you even bother staying if you’re not gonna talk to me? Was it just to give me the hot chocolate? Well, I have it. Nothing’s stopping you from leaving.”

Keith’s expression darkened. “Well, what was stopping _you_ from leaving the _mountain_ before the Frozen effect set in?!”

“I wanted to find the Fallen Star!” said Lance, slamming his hand down on the mattress, beside his leg. “Beta tester! Duh! What, did you think I _wouldn’t_ go after the rare item?! I might never see it again! It’s not like I _wanted_ to pass out in the snow!”

Keith fell silent again. His hands tightened around his cup, but some of the frustration in his eyes faded away. “...You mean _log_ out, right?”

Lance looked down at his drink.

_Oops._

He thought Keith would have figured it out. It hadn’t even occurred to him that logging out and passing out would probably look the same to anyone in the game.

But the cat was already out of the bag.

“Nope,” said Lance, keeping his tone as light as possible. “Totally lost consciousness in the middle of playing.” He took another sip of his drink, closing his eyes to avoid eye-contact with Keith.

“Is that...something that happens a lot?”

Lance lowered his drink and rolled his eyes. “I’m not _that_ pathetic.”

When Lance looked back at Keith, he found Keith glaring at him. Again.

“I never said it was pathetic,” he growled. “I never said _you_ were, either. Your attitude could use some work, though.”

“Oh, _my_ attitude could use some work.” Lance narrowed his eyes. “Right. Sure.”

Keith, in lieu of responding, just took a drink from his cup. As far as Lance was concerned, that proved his point perfectly.

“Who _are_ you, anyway?” asked Lance.

Keith narrowed his eyes over his cup and lowered it. “Unless ‘oh, no, not Keith,’ is ‘good morning’ in some language I don’t know about, I’m pretty sure you already know who I am.”

“No, that just means I know your _name_ ,” insisted Lance. “Coran says you’re some kind of hero. You’re clearly a melee class of some kind—I’m willing to bet on warrior—”

“Smart,” said Keith, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Lance answered with an unimpressed sneer before continuing. “You’re also crazy strong, or you wouldn’t have been able to take down Drazil on your own. That means you’ve either been hacking—” Lance began to count off his fingers, starting with his thumb. “—abusing a glitch, or you’ve been playing for a long time. And if it’s the _last_ one…” He pointed at Keith with the third finger he’d counted off, which just so happened to be his middle finger. “That means you either know Shiro personally or you knew Matt. Or both.”

Keith fell silent again, but this time, there was no hardened expression to go along with it. No snark, no anger… He just _deflated_. And that was all Lance needed to see to know.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he asked through a smirk. _Lance: 1; Keith: 0._ “So which is it? Shiro or Matt?”

Some of Keith’s defensiveness came back, but it was nowhere near where it had been before. “Why should I tell you? Why does it even matter?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what you’re doing here.” Lance shrugged. Another half-truth. “I mean, I figured you were another playtester at first, someone else Shiro brought on to test Arus a little more thoroughly, but that doesn’t add up. I found a hit detection glitch _inside the inn_. There’s no way you could have missed that if you were looking for glitches this whole time. It was right next to the fireplace. Take a step too far and suddenly you’re waist-deep in no-man's land and screaming for a crazy guy with a mustache to pull you out before you fall into infinity.”

Keith raised an eyebrow.

“Point is, I know you’re not beta-testing.” Lance lifted his cup toward his lips again. “And I know you’re not some kind of weird bodyguard for NPCs, either. They would have just gotten another NPC to do that.”

“What makes you think I’m not an NPC?” asked Keith, no venom in his voice.

“You asked me if I logged out,” said Lance. “NPCs aren’t supposed to break character except in certain situations. You’re not a tutor character and this isn’t an emergency. Plus… I dunno.” He shrugged. “There’s just...something about you that’s different from everyone else. Like...your words aren’t rehearsed. Even when Coran talks normally, he still sort of feels like he’s playing a character. You’re the most realistic person I’ve met in Arus, so you’ve gotta be real.”

Keith sighed and turned away, eyes closed. He rested a hand on the stove, earning a quirk of Lance’s eyebrow. Either the clothes he wore offered some kind of immunity to fire, or he just didn’t care that he was losing HP.

“...I knew both of them.”

“‘Knew,’ huh?” Lance frowned. “Is that past tense for both of them or just Matt?”

The hand Keith rested on the stove curled into a fist. “Both.”

“So, they don’t know you’re here?”

Keith didn’t answer, and he didn’t need to.

Lance took a thoughtful sip of his hot chocolate. Some kind of drama was going on. He could feel it. Maybe he and Shiro had a falling out after Matt died. If Shiro started acting like the way he acted at Matt’s funeral, Lance wouldn’t have wanted to stay friends with him either. It didn’t really make sense why Keith was still playing SoA if he had some kind of beef with the creators, but Lance’s best guess was that he’d gotten attached to the characters. Maybe that was why all the NPCs loved him so much. He turned into the game’s protagonist because he was the only one doing their quests or buying from their shops. Lance couldn’t fault him for that.

He drained the rest of his drink and leaned forward to set it on the ground. The snowflake that had been haunting the corner of his vision disappeared, and he felt warm enough to shed the blankets around him if he so desired. Maybe he would once his conversation with Keith was over.

But it wasn’t. Not yet.

“Well, whatever the reason…” Lance held his arm over his head, closed his eyes, and stretched. “Your secret’s safe with me.” _Man, curling up to stay warm for too long sure makes your back—_

“What?”

The vulnerability in Keith’s voice caught Lance off-guard. He arched an eyebrow and dropped his arms to his sides.

The way Keith was looking at him made him look closer to angry than anything else. Maybe confused. His brow was furrowed, and he was frowning. He almost looked like he was scowling more than anything else. But Lance had heard it. He _swore_ he had. That unsure, worried softness—

Well, whatever. It was probably just his imagination.

“It’s not like I can blab to Shiro,” said Lance, shrugging. “I mean, everyone in this game loves you. I know they’re not real people, but I’m still not jumping at the chance to be the villain in the story.” He crossed his arms. “Besides, Coran would kill me. Do you know how bad of an idea it is to get on your landlord’s bad side? Because I’ve had to deal with that in the _real_ world, and it was bad _then_. In a game, where the smallest character can ruin your life, I don’t even want to think about it.”

Something flashed across Keith’s expression, something Lance couldn’t quite put a name to. “Right. Well, uh... Thank you…?”

Lance frowned, confused at first, and then he realized.

Shoot.

Keith still didn’t know his name.

How did something like that even happen?

Lance offered his hand. If they were gonna do this, they were gonna do this right.

“The name’s Lance.”

Keith’s eyes darted down to the hand. He set his cup on top of the stove, crossed the room, and took Lance’s hand in his own, gripping it firmly.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I think.”

Lance scoffed and pulled his hand back. “You’re not so good at the whole ‘social interaction’ thing, are you?”

Keith scowled. “As far as I can tell, neither are you.”

“Of course _you’d_ think that,” said Lance. He threw the blankets off his body and threw his legs over the side of the bed. “You just admitted you’re bad at social interaction.” He looked back down at the bed and found a black cloth that didn’t seem to fit in with the light blue blankets Lance had been wrapped in. He reached for it and held it up.

It was a cloak.

Lance raised his eyebrows and turned toward Keith. “This yours?”

Keith nodded mutely.

Lance tossed the cloak at him, trying as hard as he could to not think about how likely it was that Keith probably wrapped Lance in that very cloak to keep him alive on the way to the room they were in. “Cool. Put it on and let’s go.”

Keith caught the cloak with one hand but made no move to pull it on yet. “Go? Go _where_?”

Lance scoffed. “Where do you think? We’re gonna go get that Fallen Star.”

 

* * *

 

Matt knelt in front of Shiro’s sleeping avatar and swept the long tuft of white hair away from his closed eyes. It was as close as he dared to get, even when Shiro was logged out.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing his knuckles to Shiro’s cheek. It was strange how warm his skin was when there was no life there to keep it warm. “I wish I could tell you the truth.”

He dropped his hand to Shiro’s, squeezed it once, gently, and pulled away, his hands seeking the book with the game’s code copied into it.

He’d seen something earlier. Something he didn’t dare tell Shiro about.

There was a _lot_ he didn’t dare tell Shiro about anymore. He felt terrible about that. He hadn’t kept a single secret from Shiro since they started dating. Well, outside of anniversary presents and birthday gifts. But that was different. He made those secrets with the full intention of telling Shiro when the time was right, but everything Matt had endured for the past few months… It was better if Shiro never knew.

“Guess dying changes a person,” mused Matt as he flipped through the pages, a bittersweet smile on his face.

He stopped on the same page he’d found the glitch and began to scan through the code again. There was an object he’d seen earlier, something that shouldn’t have been in the region.

And there it was, still stabbed into a tree where it most certainly should not have been.

Matt set down the book and raised his hands. His keyboard appeared underneath his fingers, and he began to type.

_Kolivan,_

_I’ve spotted some activity on the western side of Olkarion, near the border. I don’t know if they’re still there, but send a few Blades to take a look if you can spare them. I don’t know what they’re doing out there, but whatever it is, it can’t be good._

_Thanks._

_—Matt_

With a sigh much heavier than the tone of his message, Matt hit “send” and took his hands back from the keyboard, letting the interface disappear.

He closed the book, tucked it away in the pouch at his hip, and pulled his staff out in its place.

Knowing that Kolivan would send his men out to inspect the area wasn’t enough to settle Matt’s heart. Not with his family out there.

He wouldn’t feel right unless he personally saw to it that Pidge was safe.

It was the least he could do after leaving them alone in the real world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always so worried about talking in the notes. I'm gonna wind up spoiling something by total accident.


	12. Foe

Matt stayed strong the entire time.

He stayed strong for the whole bus ride home.

He stayed strong walking from the bus stop to his house.

He stayed strong with every step he climbed to his front door.

He stayed strong when he unlocked his door and stepped inside.

And then he shut the door.

He fell back and pressed his spine against the door. Tears burned the inside of his eyelids and he tilted his head back as if it would keep them from spilling; it didn’t help. They overflowed and trailed down his cheeks and followed the line of his jaw all the way to his neck. A choked sob pushed past his throat, and he slid all the way down the door until he was sitting on the floor, legs folded and pressed against his chest. He yanked his glasses off and rubbed his face with the sleeve of his sweater, but there was no point in it. Every tear he wiped away was replaced by another.

“Matt?”

There was a sharp, sudden clatter as Matt’s glasses slipped out of his fingers and landed on the linoleum floor.

“Pidge!”

Sure enough, his younger sibling was watching him from the bottom of the stairs, blurry through the tears as much as from Matt’s myopia, but Matt didn’t need to see their face to know that they were worried. He’d heard it in their voice.

“I’m fine,” he said hastily, closing his eyes scrubbing so hard at his face that it hurt almost as much as the gaping hole in his chest.

“I didn’t ask,” said Pidge slowly. The soft sound of uncertain footsteps approached, and Matt had no desire to lift his head and see his younger sibling hovering over him. “I don’t need to. It’s pretty clear you’re _not_ fine. So what happened?”

Matt made no move to speak. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to frame it in a way that didn’t make him immediately seem like an asshole?

“Matt, if you don’t talk to me, I’m telling Dad.”

Matt lowered his hand and lifted his head to send Pidge a glare, one that held no fire whatsoever.

Pidge dropped to one knee in front of him. “I’m worried,” they whispered. “If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine, but you need to talk to _someone_.”

Matt sighed and closed his eyes again. “It’s stupid.”

“It can’t be _that_ stupid,” said Pidge. The floor creaked as they crawled closer and leaned against the door next to Matt. “I mean, you look like you got your heart ripped— _Ohh, you told Shiro._ ”

“I wish.” Matt laughed bitterly. At least in that case, he would have felt like being upset was justified.

“Okay,” said Pidge. “So you didn’t confess your undying feelings to the love of your life, but it has _something_ to do with Shiro, right?”

Matt licked his lips. “...Shiro—” His breath hitched. His voice cracked. “...Shiro...wanted advice...on how to dress for his date tonight.”

Pidge didn’t answer for several lingering seconds, and when they did, all they said was, “Oh.”

 _Oh_.

Even Matt couldn't think of anything better to say.

That was all Matt could say when he got Shiro's phone call in the first place.

“Oh.”

He’d wanted to come up with an excuse to get out of it, but Shiro had sounded so nervous, and it wasn’t as if there was anyone else he could ask. Well, there was, _technically_ , but of all the people in the world to go to for fashion advice, Matt would _not_ have chosen Keith.

“I mean, there’s no guarantee that the date’s going to go well—”

“She’s a mutual friend,” lamented Matt, cutting Pidge short. “She’s really nice and smart and completely gorgeous. Anyone in the world would be lucky to have someone like that. They—” Matt pressed the back of his wrist against his mouth. It was hard to talk when his lip was quivering. “...They’re perfect for each other.”

“So what you meant by ‘it’s stupid’ is that you feel bad for being jealous when you feel like you should be happy that they’re happy.” Pidge sighed. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself. You know that, right?”

“It’s not like I hate them,” said Matt, furrowing his brow. “It’s not like Shiro and I were ever going to work out anyway, and out of all the people for Shiro to wind up with, I’m glad it was her, but…”

“But you’re hurting,” said Pidge. Their weight fell against Matt’s side, comforting and warm. “And that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with hurting, Matt. Being heartbroken doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“That’s not how it feels right now,” mumbled Matt, curling into a tighter ball and letting his forehead rest against his knees.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” said Pidge. “So do you want to go the whole nine yards with this? Ice cream, sad movies…?”

Matt, in spite of himself, couldn’t resist the bittersweet chuckle that bubbled out of him. “Right now, all I want to do is bury myself in a project and forget the real world exists for a while.” He smirked, hidden behind his knees. “Maybe I should try to make a copy of myself. That way, the next time Shiro needs romantic advice, I can send the copy—”

Something sparked in Matt’s brain.

He lifted his head off of his knees.

_A copy of myself… Maybe there’s something to that._

 

* * *

 

Keith wasn’t sure when the blizzard had stopped, but it had survived long enough to cover his tracks completely. Everything beyond the chapel door was blanketed in fresh, virgin snow. Snow that was still falling, but not nearly at the rate it had been before. Keith could see more than a meter in front of himself this time.

“It’s actually kind of pretty out here when it’s not trying to kill you.”

Keith spared a glance over his shoulder at Lance, who was almost completely covered by the black cloak he’d bought off the chapel’s sage...once he’d stopped screaming about mermaids, of course. The cloak wouldn’t make much of a difference—it was thin, made for weddings rather than trekking through knee-deep snow—but any protection from the wind would be helpful.

“It’s still trying to kill you,” said Keith, turning his eyes back to the peak, where the beacon from the Fallen Star still gave off its warm and welcoming light. “It’s just not trying as _hard_.”

“Yeah, whatever,” said Lance. The chapel door closed with a click behind Keith’s back, and within seconds, Lance was standing by his side, shoulder-to-shoulder, as if he and Keith made a formidable force rather than the babysitting scenario that was the reality of their situation.

“Do you have everything you need?” asked Keith, turning toward his grudging companion. “Float Potions, Fire Oil, Balmeran Cave Root—?”

“Yes,” grumbled Lance. “Unless there’s something you forgot to mention, you already gave me everything I need.”

“Technically, I didn’t give you anything,” said Keith, taking his first step onto the mound of snow past the chapel entrance, his float status keeping him from sinking down, just like before. “You paid for it. I _sold_ you everything you need.” Otherwise, Lance wouldn’t have been coming with him, and they both knew it.

“Didn’t sell me the advice,” said Lance. The snow underfoot crunched softly as he followed close behind Keith.

“That’s probably why you only took half of it,” said Keith, sending a cursory glance over his shoulder. “It’s not too late to turn back. I know you have a Yellow Potion. You could use it.”

“ _Oh_ , no,” said Lance, picking up speed and walking past Keith in apparent protest. “I am not going anywhere until I see that Star.”

Keith sighed and picked up his pace to keep up with Lance. “I still don’t understand why you still want to see the Fallen Star when you agreed to let me take it.”

“Yeah,” said Lance gruffly, still managing to stay ahead of Keith. “So you can’t hold saving me over my head. We’re even now.”

“That’s not what I’m confused about,” said Keith, hiking up his pace to a light jog. “Why do you want to see the Star even though you know you can’t do anything with it?”

“Uh, because it’s a big, glowy thing in the distance?” said Lance as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Why _wouldn’t_ I want to see it?”

“Because you’re not getting anything out of it,” said Keith, his brow furrowing.

“Not getting anything out of it?” Lance smirked. “Pssh. You kidding me? Whatever’s giving off that light—” Lance reached through the front of his cloak and pointed at the sky. “—has to look amazing. And I’ll get to see it with my own eyes. Or...optic nerves, I guess.” He tucked his arm away again and turned to Keith, eyebrow raised. “You’re playing a game right now. It’s not like you’re going to get anything _physical_ out of this in the real world. So what are you playing for?”

Keith dropped his eyes to the snow at his feet, watching snowflakes land on his boots with every step.

Why was he in Altea? Why was he still moving forward despite everything pushing against him, despite Zarkon and the Galra Empire, despite Shiro, despite _Matt_? The only easy answer was that he didn’t have anything else. It was his life. He might as well fight for it, right?

But that hadn’t always been the case.

“I guess I decided to join Altea because it was different,” said Keith, keeping his eyes trained on the snow beneath him. “I could devote a part of myself to something that had nothing to do with the real world or real problems.”

Of course, that was before the problems in Altea became just as real to Keith as everything outside of it.

“Exactly,” said Lance. “Escapism. That’s why a lot of people play games. It’s a whole new life that has nothing to do with the real world. And for me, part of this life is seeing what’s on the top of this mountain.”

Keith raised his head to look at the glow they were heading toward.

He wished that could be the only reason he was climbing the mountain.

But he had a feeling that the time he could do something just because he felt like it had long passed.

 

* * *

 

Hunk held his list up to his lantern and checked it against the contents of his bag. Cave Root, Cave Bugs, White Potions, Yellow Potions… Everything he wanted, as well as everything Shay had asked for, was exactly where it was supposed to be.

Humming cheerfully, Hunk pocketed his list and reached under his garb to pull out a necklace, one dropped by some sort of frog creature he and Shay had tackled a few days prior.

He gripped the pendant tight in his hand until only a bare glimmer of gold peeked through his fingers, and the city around him vanished.

He was back on the 25th floor, right behind Shay.

Or, at least, he assumed where he’d disappeared to was somewhere on the 25th floor. The rock formations that surrounded them were completely new to him.

“Shay?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

His companion jumped and whirled around. “Hunk,” she breathed, raising a clawed hand to her heart. “You gave me a fright.”

Hunk couldn’t help smiling. She was cute. “Sorry.” He raised his head and took a brief look at the ceiling. “Where...are we?”

“Not far ahead from where we were,” said Shay brightly. “We are still on the 25th Level, but… Come see.” She reached for Hunk’s hand and began to walk backward, eagerly dragging him along.

“All right, I’m coming,” said Hunk, half-laughing as he returned Shay’s grip with one of his own. His feet smacked on the damp floor, sending echoes rippling off the cave walls as he half-jogged to keep up with Shay’s enthusiastic pulling. “What am I supposed to see?”

“It is a surprise,” said Shay, her golden eyes glinting in the low light.

“A good kind of surprise, right?” asked Hunk. He trusted Shay a lot more than he trusted most real people, but that didn’t stop his anxiety from reminding him that he might be on his way to a booby trap. Nothing dangerous, but maybe enough for a practical joke. There was always the possibility that Shay had a hidden prankster streak somewhere in her bones.

Or...exoskeleton, as the case was.

Shay let go of Hunk’s hand only to run behind him and push at his back. “You should go first,” she insisted in lieu answering Hunk’s question.

And then, suddenly, her eyes weren’t the only gold light in the room.

Hunk’s boot landed on some sort of ridged surface, and the second his foot hit the crests of the ridges, the valleys filled with light that spread outward from the sole of his foot like streams of water. The light traveled across the floor, dipping into swirls and symbols until it reached the walls, where it began to climb up and up toward the cave ceiling.

Soon, the entire cave was covered in what would have looked like cave drawings if not for the fact that they were glowing like neon lights.

“Ooh,” breathed Hunk, slack-jawed. “Pretty.”

“It is!” said Shay enthusiastically, moving to Hunk’s side to reach for his hand again. “And look!” She dragged him to the center of the mural, which every other line seemed to point toward. “You like Altean history, do you not?”

Hunk frowned at the lines carved into the stone. At first, it had looked like a bunch of lines drawn in arbitrary directions, but now that Hunk got a better look at it…

“Whoa.” Hunk cautiously raised his hand to the surface of the mural. “It… It looks like a big hamster.”

“This is Gyrgan the Kind,” said Shay, resting a hand on the hamster-creature’s arm. “He is the Observer of Balmera. When his chamber glows, it means that he has seen something important, and when his eyes are open, it means that he welcomes you to see what he has seen.”

“Okay…” said Hunk, frowning at the closed eyes. It was hard to imagine them opening, even when he reminded himself that he was in a fantasy world. It was one thing for a three-dimensional object to move, but a flat image was something else. “That explains what the mural does from a lore standpoint, but what does it do game-mechanics-wise?”

Shay shrugged. “Gyrgan is...an Observer. He behaves the way any other non-playable character in Altea behaves, by taking in context and acting accordingly. Whether he believes that something is necessary to know or simply...funny, he will choose to share it.”

“So this is an NPC?”

“Yes.”

Hunk, who suddenly felt very weird about his hand being on Gyrgan’s chest, stepped back. “And if he wants to talk to you, he just...will?”

“Not exactly,” said Shay. “Though Gyrgan does listen, he will not speak like we do. He will only show what he has seen. And in order to communicate with Gyrgan at all, two must approach, each bearing a key.”

“Okay…” Hunk furrowed his brow and pulled his gaze away from the mural to look at Shay. “Next question: How do you know all this? I thought you never made it past, like, the fourth floor or something.”

“Gyrgan was once a monument in the center of the city,” explained Shay, shrugging one shoulder with a sheepish smile. “It was moved long ago. According to Matt’s reports, this was Shiro’s decision.”

Hunk frowned, unimpressed. “Is Shiro also the reason we both had to be level 30 to get past a boss on floor 23?”

“Yes,” said Shay, raising her brow. “Why do you ask?”

“Sounds like this guy…” Hunk’s frown deepened. “...likes a challenge.”

Shay’s giggle pushed Hunk’s worries aside. “Yes, I suppose he does.”

 

* * *

 

Lance couldn't stop watching Keith.

It wasn't that Keith was handsome—though, despite what Lance would say if anyone asked, he _was_. There wasn't anything particularly magnetic about him. Definitely not his crappy personality.

But there was something different about him. He walked with confidence. A lot of it. Like he knew the mountains better than the layout of his own house. He never once hesitated on his way to the beacon, not even when there was a clear fork in the flattened parts of the mountain. He never hit a point where the terrain was too steep or slick to climb.

It wasn’t completely obvious, but once Lance noticed, it was hard to shake off.

At the same time, though, Lance couldn’t think of a way to casually broach the subject, to find an answer to the nagging question of why Keith seemed so utterly in his element. At least, not directly.

“So, you’ve been playing this game a long time, huh?” asked Lance.

“Yep,” said Keith with an air of finality that Lance refused to give into.

“How long?”

“I don’t know,” sighed Keith, audibly annoyed. “A year? Maybe more?”

“A _year_?!” Lance’s foot slipped down a slope, and Keith had to whip around and grab his wrist to keep him from falling back.

“Yes,” said Keith, pulling Lance up onto the ledge above with a smooth tug. “A year.”

“How did you know Shiro and Matt?”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Keith, releasing Lance’s name and turning away. “We had a falling out. I try not to think about them.”

“But you’re still playing their game.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to talk to Shiro.”

“But you—”

“Lance, be quiet.”

Lance furrowed his brow and squared his shoulders. “ _Hey_! I—”

“Be _quiet_!”

The urgency in Keith’s tone caught Lance off-guard, and though it wasn’t intentional, he fell quiet.

The beacon that had lit their way from the foot of the mountain to where they stood was gradually fading, replacing its warm glow with monochromatic darkness.

Someone must have found the Fallen Star before they could get to it.

For a second, Lance thought that the sharpness in Keith’s tone had been from anger, but that was quickly thrown out the window when Keith reached into his bag and began frantically digging through it.

Keith’s eyes, barely visible in the fresh darkness, were wide with terror.

“What?” asked Lance. “What’s going—?”

“Shhh,” hissed Keith, plucking two bottles out of his bag. It was so dark that Lance couldn’t even tell what color they were. All he could tell was that Keith was charging up to him, radiating fear. “Take this,” he said harshly, shoving one of the bottles at Lance’s chest, “and keep your mouth shut.”

“Why?” demanded Lance, dropping his voice to Keith’s level.

“Shut up and trust me!”

Did Lance trust Keith?

Not particularly.

The fear in his eyes, on the other hand...

Lance drank the potion.

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｅｆｆｅｃｔ： Ｓｔｅａｌｔｈ Ｉｎｃｒｅａｓｅ

Ｂｏｎｕｓ： Ｉｎｖｉｓｉｂｉｌｉｔｙ

╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

“‘Stealth increase’?”

Keith drank a bottle of the same potion he’d given Lance. “Yes,” he said tersely, dropping the empty bottle into his bag. “Stealth increase. Now be quiet.”

“You still haven’t told me why,” said Lance, gripping his own empty bottle like a worry stone.

“No time.”

“But—”

“Shh.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like being left in the dark, but Keith seemed to be a bit distracted. His eyes were frantically scanning the mountain top, searching for something, something Lance would have been able to help with if he knew what was happening.

And then he saw it.

Or, rather, Lance saw _him_.

A person. Some race Lance hadn’t seen in the game before.

And honestly, he would have been hard to miss, even if Lance wasn’t looking for something out of the ordinary. He was _enormous_ , like the draugrs Lance had run into in the forest, and almost as creepy-looking thanks to the mismatched, glowing eyes. Yellow and orange, one almond-shaped and the other a perfect circle, pierced into Lance’s chest from a bat-like silhouette.

The man—or, at least, Lance was pretty sure it was a man—marched down the mountain with just as much confidence and purpose as Keith had had climbing up it.

Lance understood why Keith had given him that potion. Whatever this thing was, Lance was sure he didn’t want it knowing where he was. Even without the mismatched eyes and bat-like ears and the enormous eyes, Lance was sure the man would be just as intimidating. There was something...off about him. Something sinister. It made Lance’s skin crawl. The goosebumps spreading across his arms were from more than just the cold.

Something grabbed Lance’s cloak.

He gasped.

A hand clapped over his mouth. Lance couldn’t help the sound—one he vehemently insisted was not a squeal—that broke through his throat.

It took a second for Lance to realize that the hands slowly pulling him back by his face and cloak both belonged to Keith, and only then did he realize why Keith was pulling him back.

The mismatched eyes were following him. Closely.

_Oh, no._

_Ohh, no._

The man to whom the mismatched eyes belonged raised a hand to eye-level. Violet fire swirled just inches above his palm.

_We’re quiznacked._

The beast-like creature reeled his arm back like he was throwing a baseball. The fire flared bigger and brighter to the point where it looked like he was holding a white, fiery sun, and then—

And then Lance found himself on his knees.

Keith had yanked him down, just in time for the fire to skirt over the top of his head.

It landed somewhere in the snow behind them. Lance wanted to turn around and take a look, to see if it had melted the snow or whether it had just landed in it as if it were any other object, but Keith had a firm hold on him, so firm that Lance couldn’t so much as turn his head. All he could do was watch the man who had thrown the fireball as his left eye—and only his left eye—narrowed.

“Hmm,” he growled skeptically, his voice deep and bear-like.

Then, without a word, he straightened his back and continued his walk down the mountain.

Keith didn’t let Lance go for several moments, even when the strange man was well out of sight.

Lance’s cold resistance from the Fire Oil wore off.

Both of their Float effects vanished, and Keith and Lance sank slowly into the snow.

Even their Stealth Potions ran their course.

And still, Keith wouldn’t remove his hand from Lance’s mouth.

Lance wanted nothing more than to rip it down himself, to grab Keith by the wrist and throw him off, but if there was even the slightest chance of that _thing_ coming back and attacking them, Lance didn’t want to be the one held responsible for blowing their cover.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Keith lowered his hand.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I think he’s out of earshot.”

“Oh, you _think_?!” hissed Lance, keeping his voice low just in case as he turned around to send Keith a dirty look. “He’s been gone for, like, ten minutes!”

“He could have been waiting just out of sight!” snapped Keith, his face drawing entirely too close to Lance’s for comfort. “Maybe I would have been a little more confident that he wasn’t just waiting for us to drop our guard if _someone_ could keep his mouth _shut_ like I _told him to_!”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t _grab me_ when I was _already freaking out_ , I wouldn’t have _jumped_!” Lance leaned in just as far, almost far enough for his head to push against Keith’s like a pair of territorial elk.

“He was coming right for us!” barked Keith. He pushed at Lance’s chest with the flat of his hand. “If you were actually paying attention, I wouldn’t have had to drag you!”

“Oh, so it’s _my_ fault!”

“Yes, Lance, it is!”

“I’m not going to apologize for not acting the way you wanted me to when you didn’t even bother telling me what was going on!” Lance balled his hands into fists. “I don’t even know what the hell that thing was!”

“That—!” Keith broke their glaring contest and turned his angry expression toward the top of the mountain. He exhaled hotly, his shoulders sagging.

“That...was a Galra.” Keith slowly turned his eyes back on Lance. The anger from before had transformed. It wasn’t as hot and impulsive as before. It ran deeper, like an old, worn-out grudge rather than the crackle of a short fuse.

“And now...it’s a Galra with a Fallen Star.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand college has officially started up again as of today. So I might slow down a bit. Sorry, guys.
> 
> But look. :D [ART.](https://twitter.com/kyokurei0/status/899781466288119808) It's Matt. I'm so happy. Look at him. He's gorgeous. [Thanks, kyokurei~]
> 
> And remember, if you want to contact me for any reason, you can contact me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/YouAreInAComa) or [Discord](https://discord.gg/hrgP6yj). And that includes if you want to show me fanart.


	13. Death

It was all dark in the beginning. All...except for Matt himself.

He looked down at his body. His hands, his legs...even the clothes he’d been wearing while he was recording his neurotransmissions.

He was awake, and he was aware. He wished he could say it was bizarre that the last thing he remembered before he was dropped into his dark, new environment was finishing the recording process, but honestly, it didn’t feel weird at all. It just felt like starting a new game in VR.

The only weird part of it to Matt was trying to convince himself that he wouldn’t be able to take off his headset and go back to the world. For one thing, he wasn’t wearing a headset at all, but for another, there was the fact that he’d never actually been to the real world, despite what his memories were telling him.

“I’m not a real person,” whispered Matt to absolutely no one. He laughed quietly and squeezed his hands into fists before relaxing them again, testing his reflexes in his new state of being. “How weird is that?”

At least he knew the experiment was a success, though he wondered how much time had passed in the real world, whether his awakening was the first attempt or the seven-thousandth. Whether the real Matt was barely older than he, the copy, felt like he was, or whether he was an old man at his brand new, super futuristic computer with Bae Bae XII curled up on his lap.

Or whether the real Matt was the one at the monitor at all. For all the copy knew, the original Matt could have been long-since dead and he was currently being observed by a student who wanted to see his lifelong dream come true posthumously.

Or maybe he was even farther in the future than that. Maybe he had just been discovered by some sort of historian.

Anything was possible.

Matt took back what he thought before; waking up wondering if you were dead definitely made things a little bizarre.

“Okay,” said Matt, tilting his head back to look into the dark, empty space above him. “Having a little bit of an existential crisis here. If I could get some confirmation that I’m not alone right now, I think it would really help.”

Matt waited.

He waited for what felt like quite a while.

And he wasn’t sure whether that was because time moved different inside of a computer—whether he was seeing the world through the eyes of a computer, able to think and function much faster than a human brain—or whether he was just anxious or...whether there was no one on the other side at all.

Was there a possibility that only an instant had passed between the end of the recording process and that Matt was just floating consciousness on an external hard drive? But… No, in that case, he wouldn’t be able to see himself, would he? He’d be totally disembodied, just a train of thought.

Unless seeing himself was just a hallucination triggered by the inability to comprehend that he _was_ just floating consciousness without sensory input.

Could data hallucinate?

Before Matt could get too caught up in his own anxiety-induced train of thought, a text box appeared in front of his face.

╔═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｓｏｒｒｙ ａｂｏｕｔ ｔｈａｔ．

Ｉｔ ｄｉｄｎ＇ｔ ｅｖｅｎ ｏｃｃｕｒ ｔｏ ｍｅ ｔｈａｔ Ｉ ｗｏｕｌｄｎ＇ｔ ｂｅ ａｂｌｅ ｔｏ ｃｏｍｍｕｎｉｃａｔｅ ｗｉｔｈ ｙｏｕ  
ｄｉｒｅｃｔｌｙ．

Ｏｒ ｔｈａｔ ｙｏｕ＇ｄ ｆｒｅａｋ ｏｕｔ．

Ｉ ｄｏｎ＇ｔ ｋｎｏｗ ｗｈｙ．

Ｉ ｇｕｅｓｓ ｉｔ ｗｏｕｌｄ ｂｅ ｐｒｅｔｔｙ ｆｒｅａｋｙ ｔｏ ｗａｋｅ ｕｐ ｏｎ ｙｏｕｒ ｏｗｎ ｉｎ ａ ｃｏｍｐｕｔｅｒ ｐｒｏｇｒａｍ，  
ｈｕｈ？

Ｌｕｃｋｉｌｙ， ｔｅｘｔ ｂｏｘｅｓ ａｒｅｎ＇ｔ ｔｈａｔ ｈａｒｄ ｔｏ ｐｒｏｇｒａｍ， ｓｏ ｔｈａｔ＇ｓ ｏｎｅ ｐｒｏｂｌｅｍ ｏｕｔ ｏｆ  
ｔｈｅ ｗａｙ． Ｈｏｗ＇ｓ ｌｉｆｅ， Ｍａｔｔ β？

－－Ｍａｔｔ α

╚═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

Matt laughed, relieved, and ran a hand through his hair. Okay. So he wasn’t dead. And if he hadn’t thought of programming a _text box_ yet, then it couldn’t have been too long after the initial recording.

In fact, half the reason the original Matt, Matt α, wasn’t thinking straight could probably be attributed to still being emotional over Shiro.

God, _Shiro_.

Raw, crushing despair dug its claws into Matt’s chest. He wondered whether that was normal or whether it hurt so much worse than it should have because Matt—Matt α—couldn’t stop thinking about it while he was recording.

“Life kinda sucks,” admitted Matt β, rubbing the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “But you already know that, and I’m guessing you didn’t ask me that to talk about Shiro.” He sighed, straightened the glasses he’d just knocked askew, and looked around himself. “Aside from that, life is kind of...black. Think I could get a background or something? Some kind of royalty free asset or something? I feel like I’m gonna lose my mind in this void.”

A new text box replaced the first one.

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Ｃｏｍｉｎｇ ｒｉｇｈｔ ｕｐ．

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* * *

 

“Okay, so the Galra has a Fallen Star,” said Lance, crossing his arms. “So _what_ if the Galra has a Fallen Star?”

Keith growled and began digging through his bag again.

No answers.

Lance was sick and tired of getting _no answers_.

“Why does it matter if the Galra has the Fallen Star?” Lance stomped through the snow, kicking it up with every step now that his Float had worn off. He grabbed Keith by the front of his cloak and yanked him upright.

Keith looked seconds away from spitting in Lance’s eye.

Lance couldn’t care less.

“You’re not mad that you didn’t get the Star,” said Lance, his expression darkening. “You’re mad that he got it. Why?”

Keith grabbed Lance’s wrist and pushed it away from his cloak. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, really? That’s the crap you’re pulling? The ‘you wouldn’t understand’ cliché?” Lance wrenched his hand out of Keith’s grip. “How do you know I won’t understand if you won’t tell me?! Why are you playing this game?! Why is it so bad that the Galra found the Star first?! _Why_ does it _matter_ if I _die_?!”

“It doesn’t matter,” grumbled Keith, who was digging through his bag again.

“Obviously, it does,” snapped Lance. “You act like it’s life or death! What, is there some beefy guy with a gun pointed at your head in the real world? Are you gonna get shot if you lose that Fallen Star? Is there a _bomb_ strapped to you that’s set to go off if any character dies in the game? Is someone _else_ in trouble?” He threw his arms out to either side. “You can tell me! There’s no one around to hear us! Do you want me to call the cops? I could call the cops!”

The clinking of bottle against bottle ceased as Keith’s hand stilled. He furrowed his brow, and he closed his eyes.

Lance’s heart skipped a beat.

Shit, he was just kidding.

He swore he was kidding.

If Keith was about to admit to being held hostage, Lance was going to feel really, really bad. And then freak out.

But Keith just exhaled, slow and steady, through his nose.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he repeated, plucking a bottle from his bag.

Lance had a feeling he knew what that bottle was.

“Hey!” he protested, reaching for Keith’s arm and grabbing tight onto his sleeve. “Don’t—”

Before Lance could get another word out, Keith uncapped the bottle with his teeth and poured its contents into his mouth.

He slipped through Lance’s fingers like water; his hand dropped like a stone and fell limp against his hip.

It was all so frustrating. He should have felt like punching something. But he didn’t. He was just...worried.

Worried about Keith.

Everything about that realization felt wrong.

Keith had saved Lance more times than Lance could count. He was strong, he was stubborn, and he could take care of himself. He clearly didn’t want help, especially not from Lance.

Most importantly, the guy was a jerk. The worst jerk Lance had ever met.

But jerk or not, if he was in trouble—

“This is stupid.” Lance pulled open the flap of his messenger bag and reached into the bottom. “He’s not worth my time. I should have stopped thinking about him a long time ago.”

But his name was _Keith_ , and that was so stupid it was hard to shake.

Lance sighed and raised the heel of one hand to rub his eye. He could feel the Yellow Potion at the bottom of his bag. It was the only bottle in his inventory that was round at the bottom like that. The smart thing would be to just go back to the inn and let Keith deal with his own problems.

With an emphatic sigh that was almost closer to a groan, Lance moved his hand past the Yellow Potion and he grabbed the Fire Oil beside it instead.

He uncapped the small bottle and lifted it to his lips to drink it. If he was going to do this, he needed to keep the cold at bay for as long as possible.

The taste of the Fire Oil made Lance’s nose wrinkle. It tasted a bit like jalapeños, which wouldn’t have been bad at all if the taste wasn’t so strong. The result was more like “extract of jalapeño” than anything. It tasted great as an added kick to the hot chocolate—or Belarus Cave Root or whatever it was—but on its own, it was just spicy and bitter.

But if it would keep Lance alive on the way back down the mountain, that was all he needed.

 

* * *

 

Keith wanted more than anything to leave his room, to step foot outside and find Red and lean into her mane and let her take him anywhere else. But he couldn’t bring himself to move from the edge of his bed, even to seek help.

He was already losing, and the Galra had one more advantage to hold over his head.

It was hopeless.

And what made it feel all the more hopeless was Lance.

_Why are you playing this game?!_

Keith knew what he wanted to say. He knew what he wanted his answer to be.

But he wasn’t sure how honest that answer really was.

 

* * *

 

The walk down the mountain was a thousand times colder than the walk up.

It made no sense, not when the sun was starting to rise, when the clouds were disappearing and the sky was turning a lighter, more welcoming blue. But it was.

Altea could be lonely sometimes. Just being able to check on Coran every once in a while made everything feel a little more bearable. On that mountain, though, even when Lance knew he could take his helmet off at any time and Hunk would be right there, Lance had never felt so alone.

There was nothing but him out there.

Nothing but the snow, the wind, and a trail of footprints for company.

“...Wait, what?”

Lance jogged until he reached the start of the trail, and he kneeled to inspect it. Footprints. Definitely footprints. And they weren’t his own, either. He was too far up the mountain, and they were too fresh. Too recent. For another thing, as much as Lance hated to admit it, he knew he most likely faceplanted at the end of his trail from the foot of the mountain, and there was no sign of it, so they definitely weren’t his own footprints.

Keith had used a Yellow Potion, so they weren’t his, either.

Which meant...that Galra guy probably ran out of Float.

Lance swallowed hard, and shakily, he climbed to his feet.

If he followed the tracks…

If he found that Galra and was somehow able to kill him…

“I’m absolutely insane,” muttered Lance. “Just totally bonkers.”

Nothing else made sense.

After all, what else could explain chasing a very dangerous person down a mountain for the sake of someone who wouldn’t even appreciate it?

 

* * *

 

The branches of the trees in the jungle grew into one another. They braided around each other like ropes, and the ropes made pathways, which in turn formed a maze.

Pidge loved it. The whole thing was completely genius.

And very, very Matt.

From the plants to the winding maze itself. Every step taken required patience, foresight, and awareness. Someone who didn’t pay enough attention to what was happening around them was bound to slip and fall to their death. Someone who didn’t take the time to look ahead would wind up going down the wrong path or climbing down the wrong tree trunk and wasting time.

It was simple enough, but Pidge had to admit that they’d never experienced a maze that took advantage of the Z-axis before. It was a fun challenge. Well, compared to mazes in most games. It was still clearly intended to be possible for someone of average intelligence.

But regardless of the difficulty, of the challenge that the maze itself presented, Pidge still would have loved it, if only because it was like taking a walk through their brother’s mind.

They ran their fingers through wispy vines that stretched down from higher branches. They pressed their palms against soft, cushiony moss and wrapped themselves in large, fuzzy, human-sized leaves. Every strip of bark, every sprouting branch, it all breathed Matt.

It was like he was still alive in those woods.

Or...maybe Pidge had just spent too much time around his star palm in the real world.

They pressed their forehead against a moss-covered trunk and closed their eyes. Rover’s weight sank down on their shoulder, and a soft, electronic crooning trilled in their ear. They furrowed their brow and reached up to scratch gently through Rover’s neck feathers with a single finger.

“Did you know him?” asked Pidge softly.

Rover responded by preening a lock of Pidge’s hair.

Pidge sighed and lifted their head. With their free hand, they adjusted the glasses they’d just knocked askew and opened their eyes.

And above their head, they saw the last thing they expected to see.

Another sign of Matt, but...not the same sort of sign they’d been seeing.

In fact, it was probably better to say that it was a sign of _Shiro_ , taking the handwriting into consideration.

But there was no questioning what the MH carved under the TS in that heart stood for.

Pidge pursed their lips. They didn’t want to cry. They weren’t in the mood for it.

But they had to wonder…

Did Matt even get the chance to see that dumb, cheesy carving?

 

* * *

 

The footprints led almost to the base of the mountain, but halfway down the slope, they wrapped around the mountain to the north side.

Lance wasn’t expecting the north side of the mountain to be populated, but when he saw who populated it, some of that surprise gave way and Lance just felt stupid.

Of course the mermaid at the chapel wouldn’t be the only one of her kind.

The merpeople on the mountain, though, were different, despite clearly being the same species. The biggest difference, the one that was impossible to miss, were that these merpeople had legs. Oh, the legs were clearly aquatic. They were scaled and they shined in the sun as if they were always wet, fins fanned out around their hips, and from what Lance could see, he was pretty sure their toes were webbed along with their fingers, but he didn’t dare get any closer than where he was, not when he was still trying to figure out where the Galra had disappeared to.

It was much, much harder to follow his tracks through the village. Even though the merpeople didn’t seem to sink into the snow for some reason or another, they did seem to have patted the snow down into icy roads that led from building to building.

Lance peered around the corner of a building near the outside of the city and scanned the area for any sign of big, bat-like ears or glowing, mismatched eyes.

The thought had occurred to Lance that the big guy had probably just gone into town to buy a Yellow Potion and he was long gone, but Lance hadn’t given up just yet.

And if anyone asked, it was just because he wanted to find out what was going on with Keith. Not that he felt like he owed him anything.

Just when Lance was about to give up on stealth and start asking the villagers whether they’d seen a Galra come through, a bell rang, and a flash of purple caught his eye.

The Galra had just exited one of the shops.

With the sun out, Lance finally got a proper look at him. He wasn’t just broad-shouldered and bat-eared anymore. He was...hairy. And one of his mismatched eyes was clearly some sort of prosthetic. One of his arms might have been as well, though it was hard to tell. It was clearly bulkier, and it didn’t match his other arm any better than either of his eyes matched its mate, but Lance wasn’t sure whether it was really a prosthetic arm or just some kind of weapon that wrapped _around_ his arm. Either way, Lance know one thing, and that was that he didn’t want to wind up on the business end of that fist, regardless of whether there was a flesh-and-blood arm underneath it or not.

Silently, keeping both eyes trained on the Galra, Lance reached into his bag for his bow.

Only to remember that he hadn’t brought it with him because he was prepared to die in the snow and he didn’t want to lose it on the mountain.

Lance bit his lip hard.

 _Quiznak_.

His hand fished around in the bottom of his bag, hoping that there might have been something in there, something he forgot he had on him, something that could serve as a weapon in a pinch.

Nothing.

Nothing but potions.

 _Well,_ thought Lance derisively, _I can always throw glass bottles at his head. That’ll probably knock off about two HP per hit. Y’know, the big DPS. That’ll take him down in about a century, maybe._

Lance pulled his hand out of his bag and balled it into a fist behind the corner of the building he was hiding behind, his eyes still trained on the Galra who was making his way casually down the street, perpendicular to where Lance watched him from.

He was so damn close.

It was maddening.

Maybe if Lance had a better attack stat, he could tackle the Galra and throw a few punches, or if he had a spell—

Lance’s heart skipped a beat.

 _If_ he had a spell?

He _had_ a spell. He killed almost fifty moose and nearly triggered a huge boss fight just trying to get the supplies for it.

Lance tore his eyes away from the Galra to look down at his hands.

Was he willing to risk putting himself in real danger for an item in a video game? One he wasn’t even planning on keeping? One he planned on giving to someone who didn’t even like him?

There was no telling whether the spell would work even if Lance was willing to try it. He’d never used it before. He had no way of telling what kind of a spell it even was, whether it would even be any good or whether Lance would do more damage throwing potions.

Still contemplating his options, Lance lifted his gaze back to the Galra, wary of losing sight of him…

...only to realize he’d already lost sight of him.

Lance squinted and leaned around the corner he was hiding behind, as if getting a two-inches-closer look would tell him whether his quarry had disappeared behind a building or into it.

A heavy hand clasped his shoulder.

He froze.

The mountain suddenly felt far colder as claws drove deep under his collarbone.

A deep, rumbling voice growled in Lance’s ear.

“I knew I’d heard something,” it said, setting Lance’s teeth on edge. “Truth be told, I expected the Paladin. But it doesn’t matter.”

The voice drew closer, close enough that Lance could feel moisture from the speaker’s mouth.

“You both die the same.”

A sharp, piercing pain pushed through Lance’s chest, but only for an instant, just before the world in Lance’s eyes folded into nothing but silent, inescapable darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :]
> 
> [HEY LOOK MORE ART.](https://twitter.com/kyokurei0/status/900123775101878272) Kyokurei drew Matt again and I'm so happy again. :D
> 
> And remember, if you want to contact me for any reason, you can contact me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/YouAreInAComa) or [Discord](https://discord.gg/hrgP6yj). And that includes if you want to show me fanart.


	14. Branching Paths

“You can’t be serious.”

“No, really. Ask.”

“Ask _what_?”

“Anything!” Matt pushed Shiro into the computer chair, ignoring his laughing half-protests, and steered him toward the keyboard. “Whatever pops into your head. Something only I would know.” He crossed his arms over the back of the chair, just barely resting them against the back of Shiro’s shoulders, and watched the computer screen, where Matt β was stretched out on the grass, arms spread open wide, a content smile on his face. He seemed to like the field a lot more than he liked the unadorned stage Matt had found before. “Oh, and sign it. Otherwise, he’ll think it’s me.”

“Right,” said Shiro. Matt saw his brow furrow in thought through the reflection from the screen and he couldn’t help smiling. Even if there was still an ache in his chest that refused to be ignored, that didn’t change the fact that Matt loved his best friend wholeheartedly _as_ a best friend. Shiro was no less of a joy to be around, regardless of his relationship status, and just having him back for a few minutes proved as much indisputably. Matt was content to just feel his presence, hear his voice, watch his reflection’s uncertain expression for a bit.

In fact, he was so content that he didn’t notice what Shiro had written until Matt β made his opinion on Shiro’s question known.

“Really, Shiro?” asked Matt β, sitting up in the grass and resting his elbows on his knees. “ _That’s_ what you’re gonna ask to a fully sapient copy of your best friend? _What’s your favorite color?_ ”

Matt α’s eyes shifted from his copy’s model back to Shiro’s reflection. His eyes were wide. Very wide.

“I— Uh—”

“It’s _orange_ , you nerd,” said Matt β. “That’s not a real question. Come on, give me a challenge.”

Matt α didn’t bother trying to stifle the chuckle that bubbled out of him.

Shiro turned his head to send him a nervous glance. “You didn’t tell me he was so...sassy.”

“I told you he was me,” said Matt α through a grin. “What did you expect?”

“I guess you’re right,” said Shiro, already typing a new question. “Matt Holt is one-hundred percent full of beans in every incarnation. I should have known.” He hit enter.

Matt β immediately rolled his eyes. “A math problem? Shiro, this is basically a Turing test. You don’t ask math problems on a Turing test. The answer’s 2539.1008 * 10^45, though, rounding to eight significant figures. I’m sure Matt α could probably do the same question just as fast, but I’m inside a giant calculator right now. Give me something more personal. Make me recite a memory or something.”

The gears in Shiro’s head were whirring. Matt α could see it in his eyes. He was trying to think of the perfect question.

And what he started typing caught Matt α off guard.

“My favorite sandwich?”

“Exactly.”

“But—”

Shiro hit enter, and Matt β finished Matt α’s question. “Do _you_ even know what it is?”

“Okay, first off, I’m offended,” said Shiro. “As my friend, I thought you’d have a little more faith in me, but yes, I do know your favorite sandwich. It’s—”

As if on cue, Matt β began to list off ingredients.

“Ham on wheat with—”

“—cheddar cheese—” Shiro, much to Matt α’s surprise, kept up with every syllable. “—spinach, olives—”

“—Monterey, honey mustard, mayo lite—“

“—onions, lettuce, radishes.”

Shiro sent Matt α a confident smirk and crossed his arms over his chest.

And Matt, despite all his efforts to the contrary, did exactly the same thing he did every day.

He fell in love with Shiro all over again.

“How did you remember all that?” he asked eagerly, leaning in closer.

“We’ve gone to lunch together more times than I can count,” said Shiro, shrugging, his smirk unfaltering. “Every time you go up to the counter, you say the same words in the same order. The whole thing’s in iambic tetrameter; there’s a rhythm to it, like you’re reciting something in oral-formulaic composition. It’s not that hard to pick up on.”

“Just because you’ve heard a song on the radio hundreds of times doesn’t mean you immediately know all the words,” protested Matt, nudging Shiro’s shoulders over the back of the chair.

“You will if you’re paying attention,” said Shiro, turning his eyes back to the computer. “Speaking of which, don’t think I haven’t noticed how incredible all of this is. You know you basically created life, right?”

“I didn’t _create life_ ,” said Matt, rolling his eyes. “I just duplicated something that already existed.”

“You say that like it wouldn’t be a huge technological breakthrough if you somehow figured out how to replicate a living, breathing human,” said Shiro. “And this isn’t too far off. This is the stuff of science fiction. How much space do you—uh, he—”

“Matt β,” said Matt α.

“Matt β,” echoed Shiro. “How much space does he take up?”

“Uhh…” Matt thought back. He hadn’t been thinking too much about the number at the time, but he knew he’d seen it. “About...2.5 petabytes.”

“ _Petabytes_?”

“Yeah,” said Matt. “2.5 petabytes, and it was originally in _hexavigesimal_. Like, the very first thing I had to do was find a way to convert it into binary so it could actually interact with a digital operating system, and that was a _lot_ of data to convert. You know, after I made a language that could interact with the coding system in the first place. And I’m gonna have to find a better way to convert while recording in the future anyway because it takes way too long. I mean, I’ve got a start, though. When I first plugged everything in and it was total garbled gibberish, I thought I messed something up, but no, I was just kind of stupid and basically forgot that brains were analog for about five seconds. I mean, I had a lot on my mind at the time. But Shiro, imagine if we could convert binary back into hexavigesimal in real time and send signals directly—”

“Matt.” Shiro’s strong, soothing voice cut through Matt’s ramblings. “I have no idea what you just said.”

“Okay, basically what I’m saying is this:” Matt gripped Shiro’s shoulder. “Everything I said about putting emphasis on touch, making the world that much more real?” He grinned. “We can do that. Touch, smell, taste, _everything_ —I basically just proved it possible.”

“That’s great and all, but…” Shiro looked back at Matt β, who was standing at the screen, arms crossed, looking expectant. “Is…he gonna be in the game?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about that,” said Matt α, his grin widening and his grip loosening on Shiro’s shoulder, trading the tight, amicable grip and the excited rambling for a loose loop over the back of Shiro’s neck and a conspiratory whisper. “And the answer is yes, he totally is, but there’s more to it than that. I have this _idea_. It’s probably gonna be expensive storage-wise, but hear me out…”

 

* * *

 

The ceiling came slowly into focus. Dusty beams caught the morning light from the window. A gentle breeze caused the shadows on the beams to sway back and forth as the lacy curtains fluttered in the chilly autumn breeze. Chilly, but not freezing. It was an improvement.

Lance sat up slowly and looked around at his bedroom at the inn warily, as if he expected the walls to eat him.

He lifted his hands and inspected them closely. Not a hint of transparency.

His bag, though empty, was still hanging from his shoulder.

The worst consequence seemed to be that Lance was in his underwear.

“Well,” he mumbled, brow furrowed skeptically. “That...wasn’t so bad. What was Keith worried about?”

He scooted to the edge of his bed, and with the jerky movement, something thumped gently against his sternum.

With a startled flinch, Lance reached up to his chest and caught whatever it was that was clattering against him. He lifted it up to eye-level, and his lips parted in surprise.

“You’re _soul-bound_?” he whispered in awe, twisting the coin-like amulet back and forth, watching it catch the sunlight.

On one hand, it was pretty cool to have something soul-bound aside from his bag, but on the other... _why_ was it soul-bound? One more mystery attached to the enigma hanging around his neck.

“You did _not_ need to be more bizarre,” breathed Lance, dropping the pendant and letting it fall back down against his chest. “Show-off.”

The necklace twinkled back its response.

Lance sighed and stood from his bed. The clothes he expected to be on the floor had been folded and moved to the small table near the door. He should have guessed as much; Coran was pretty reliable like that.

Reminding himself that he needed to buy a new set of mage clothes, Lance adorned his thief ensemble and stepped into the hallway.

It seemed quieter than usual somehow. Perhaps just because Lance had never been at the inn so early in the quintant. He usually logged on at a later varga to have tea with Coran, and when he was already logged on, he left the second the sun rose.

It was peaceful, though. Lance paused outside his own door to watch the dust motes dance in the sunlight from the east-pointing window. They swirled up and around and landed on the wooden planks of the floor beneath, only to vanish not long after they touched the wood.

The distant sound of rustling leaves reached Lance’s ears through the window, and Lance closed his eyes. He never got tired of how realistic Altea was between the magical spells and mystical creatures.

Lance lurched. A flash of purple tainted his mind’s eye. His gut twisted sharply, and he reached up to hold his stomach.

So much for a peaceful morning.

Lance opened his eyes and dropped his arm to his side. He frowned between his feet as if it were the floor’s fault he’d been stabbed.

For a moment, out there in the snow, he was afraid that he was really going to die. Not just in the game, but for good.

He needed to call his mom when he logged off.

But until then, he had a job to do. A literal job. He was being paid by the hours he spent in the game.

As Lance descended the stairs from the second floor to the ground floor, the sound of voices caught his ear. Not just Coran’s usual chipper humming, but _voices_. Plural.

Lance rounded the corner into the lobby with his eyebrow raised and he found Coran talking amicably to a… Well, Lance wasn’t really sure what he was talking to. Whatever it was, it was blue, it had a lot of arms, and it spoke with some kind of a Southern Asian accent.

Coran noticed Lance before the blue... _thing_...did, and he sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Lance! There you are! I was starting to wonder if you’d come home unscathed, but judging by your attire, I’d assume not.”

Lance, who suddenly felt very uncomfortable in the thief clothes he loved so much, crossed his arms over his chest.

“Pity,” sighed Coran. “I’d called Slav here to take a look at your necklace. Though I suppose he doesn’t technically need to _see_ it.”

“Well, either way, I’ve got it,” said Lance, gently tugging his pendant out from under his doublet by its chain.

“Let me see that,” said Slav. Without so much as a proper greeting, he stood from his chair and shot down the distance between himself and Lance to snatch the pendant out of his hand.

“Hey!” protested Lance, but Slav paid it no mind, his attention too occupied with the necklace he was turning in his uppermost hands.

“How long have you been playing?” snapped Slav, glaring up at Lance in a way that was somehow imposing despite coming from the very tired-looking eyes of someone a full head shorter than Lance.

“About two weeks—”

“Weeks? Or movements?”

“Weeks— You’re allowed to ask that?”

“I’m a fortune teller,” said Slav. “I am allowed to do readings relevant to Earth as well as to Altea as the two realities often react to one another.” He dropped the pendant and reached up to tug at Lance’s sash instead. “You tore this. When? How?”

“Uh, my first day, I think?” said Lance. “Running from Draugrs. Why does that—”

“How did you escape?” demanded Slav. “Draugrs are fast. Much faster than an early level mage.”

Lance thought back. “I, uh… There was some kind of a fire—”

And a man standing in the fire who was almost definitely Keith. But Slav didn’t need to know that and neither did Coran.

“So you never went back to the forest?” asked Slav as if the answer was bound to be a wholehearted, “Of course not.”

Of course, Lance’s answer sounded a great deal more like, “Uh.”

Slav reared his head back. “You _returned_?” he demanded incredulously. “Why would you return?! Do you have a _death wish_?”

“I went back to get a spell!” said Lance. “So sue me!”

“Wait,” said Slav, narrowing his eyes. “You didn’t have a panic attack when you tried your spell, did you?”

Lance’s jaw dropped. Okay, as long as Slav didn’t have records of in-game actions, that was very, very impressive. There were fortune tellers and then there were _fortune tellers_. Lance got the feeling Slav might have been the latter. “Okay, hold up, how did you know—”

“Oh, wonderful,” said Slav, yanking his hands away from Lance as if he’d just been burned. “Next thing you tell me will be that you died trying to take down a Galra single-handedly.”

Lance paled.

“You’re scary accurate, you know that?”

“Wait.” It was Coran who spoke up this time, concern in his old, blue eyes. “You encountered a Galra?”

Before Lance could answer, Slav stole his attention back with a scream. “I don’t like this reality!”

Lance whipped his head around to find Slav treating his many sets of hands like an abacus, each holding up an individual number of fingers.

“Wh—”

“We are already too late!” wailed Slav, pulling at his cheeks with his uppermost hands without adjusting the number of fingers he was holding up. “We are on a path that is guaranteed to kill at least two people by winter! People who should have led longer lives! And on top of that, the dead will walk the earth! Birds will drop out of the sky! Tragedies of the past may even repeat themselves! And don’t get me started on your love life!” Slav jabbed two fingers in Lance’s direction.

That was the biggest horror Lance had heard yet. “Wait, what’s gonna happen to my—”

“No! Don’t ask me _that_!” cried Slav, waving his arms around. “Do you realize what asking that question means?!”

“No?” said Lance, cocking an eyebrow. “What—”

“It means that there is now a 96.86% chance that the bakery is on fire!”

The gears in Lance’s brain ground to a halt, stuttered twice, and then worked faster than ever to catch up.

“ _What_?!” demanded Lance. “The bakery in town?!”

“No, a bakery in New York City that has absolutely no bearing on our present situation,” said Slav, putting his hands on his—well, “waist” was relative. “Of course the bakery in town! Why else would I have brought it up?!”

Lance turned on his heel so fast that his sash kicked up and hit Slav in the face.

“What are you doing?!” demanded Slav. “Don’t _go there_! Are you crazy?!”

Lance turned back toward Slav. “How can I _not_ —”

“You’ll only be driving us further down this path!” snapped Slav. “There are consequences for every action you take! Haven’t you ever heard of chaos theory?!”

“But can I help someone if I go right now?”

“Of course you can, but—”

“That’s all I need to hear.”

Lance turned around and bolted through the door without an ounce of hesitation, Slav’s screams fading away with every step he took.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t hard to find the bakery, even though Lance had never needed to know where it was before. All he had to do was run toward town until he saw the smoke, then follow that until he was knee-deep in concerned Arusians.

After that, the fire wasn’t hard to miss.

It raged at full strength despite the dozens of Arusian Mages that were fighting the flames with everything they had. Water and mud slapped at the fire, and yet it continued to climb. Great, orange tendrils reached high into the sky as if the fire were some huge demon trying to climb out of the house that was feeding it and escape into the heavens. Lance swore he could almost see arms made of fire weaving in and out of the smoke, clawing at the sky.

In addition to the Mages trying to douse the fire, there was a small group of Healers that had converged to one side. Lance could see them chatting nervously amongst themselves, gripping to each other’s arms and looking up at the fire, fear reflecting in their eyes just as easily as the fire itself.

The rest of the Arusians were just concerned citizens watching the chaos from a distance.

In the crowd, Lance caught a glimpse of a familiar face and pushed his way to it.

“Hey!” He reached for the Arusian’s shoulder only for the tiny creature to jump clumsily away, sword drawn.

“Who dares—” His eyes leveled with Lance’s and he slowly lowered his blade. “Ah. The Magicless Mage.”

“You know,” said Lance, “you could call me basically _anything else—_ ” He shook his head and made an X-shaped gesture with his arms. “Whatever. It’s not important. Catch me up, Klaizap. What’s the situation here?”

Klaizap growled. “It was Galra.”

Lance furrowed his brow. “Galra? I saw one up by the mountains. Was he a big guy? Buff? Prosthetic eye?”

Klaizap shook his head. “This Galra had two natural eyes. Klaizap saw that with his own.” He gestured toward the bakery. “Klaizap saw the Galra break down the baker’s door. There was yelling. Klaizap listened but could not hear the words. The Galra emerged, and Klaizap attacked, but the Galra was stronger.” He gestured to his leg, which was wrapped in bandages. Lance saw a few leaves sticking out from between the bindings. The Galra really must have done a number if all those Healers couldn’t take care of it.

Either that, or they were saving their mana for something bigger.

Lance looked up at the building. Surely there couldn’t be…

“Klaizap,” said Lance, his eyes trained on the fire, fire that continued to build. The entire roof was ablaze. Smoke poured out of every window. Chunks of ashy debris fell onto the ground, often landing among the Mages. “Is anyone still in there?”

“The baker,” said Klaizap. “The Galra barricaded the door so he could not escape. The barricade is gone now. The Red Warrior was able to break it down. But that was many doboshes ago.”

Red Warrior. _Keith_.

“How many doboshes?” asked Lance tersely.

“At least thirty,” said Klaizap darkly. “Perhaps forty.”

Lance’s blood ran cold. He doubted ten minutes in that inferno had the lowest mortality rate.

“Shit.”

He ran forward, pushing past the sea of Arusians until he reached the Mages. The fire raged loud in his ears. The crackling and roaring of the fire, the groaning of the building as it threatened to buckle under its own weight in its weakened state, it was enough to be deafening, but that didn’t stop him from trying to yell over it.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Someone spray me! I’m going in!”

A few Arusians looked at him skeptically for a few brief moments. Most turned back to the fire immediately, but one held his gaze for a long moment. A female with one great horn that curled behind her head.

“Please!” begged Lance. “My friend—”

Friend.

That was a strong word for what Keith was. _Really_ strong. It just slipped out.

Lance swallowed. His throat was dry. He already wanted to cough and he wasn’t even inside the house yet.

“My friend needs my help,” said Lance, barely audible over the roar of the fire. “If you don’t spray me, I’m going in anyway, but you can help me! Please! Just give me a better chance of getting him and the baker out alive!”

The woman grimaced and turned away.

Lance set his jaw. Fine. If he had to go inside unprotected, then he would. He turned away from the mages and made toward the front door, only to be stopped by a small hand reaching for his wrist.

He turned around, teeth clenched, ready to push off whoever was trying to stop him, but when he saw who it was, he faltered.

It was the potion seller.

“You’ll need some of this, Human.” The four-horned Arusian pressed something cold into Lance’s palm. Ice cold. “It’ll protect you from the fire. It’s on the house, but only if you don’t come back without my favorite customer.”

The Arusian released Lance’s wrist and Lance looked down at whatever it was he’d been given.

Three narrow bottles of Bytor Water glinted up at him, reflecting orange light against their glassy surfaces.

Terror seized Lance’s body. He didn’t like the idea of taking a drink of something that was cold enough to freeze an inventory shut.

But there were people trapped in the fire. And one of them, as much as Lance hated to admit it, was kind of important to him.

You don’t get your ass saved by the same person on a regular basis without forming some kind of bond with them.

Lance drank the water.

It took effect fast. The cold started in his chest and spread out to his fingertips, his toes, the top of his head. It twisted his stomach and gripped the back of his neck and tried as hard as it could to make him think about something he’d spent the past decade of his life trying to forget, but as hard as his heart was beating, as tight as the muscles in his arms and legs were, as much as his mind was trying to swim, Lance refused to let himself give in.

 _Don’t think about it,_ he told himself as he dropped the remaining Bytor Water into his bag.

 _Don’t think about it,_ he told himself as he ran through the fire to get inside.

 _Don’t think about it,_ he told himself, fighting against the wind that seemed to rip right through him, hot, but not hot enough to even out the effects of the Bytor Water.

 _Don’t think about it,_ he told himself, pushing through the flames themselves as if they were nothing but air.

 _Don’t think about it,_ he told himself, blinking away the tears from the thick, black smoke that obscured nearly every inch of the bakery.

And then he didn’t have to think about “not thinking about it” anymore, because that was when he saw what the problem was, and that could have distracted him from anything else.

“Keith!” Lance’s heart, already thundering inside his chest, pounded even harder. It felt as though someone were punching him in the back over and over and over again.

Lance was so used to seeing Keith on top of things, like he was stronger than anything, like he was better than anyone and he knew it. Hell, that was part of what made Keith so damn infuriating in the first place. He was so goddamn confident and sure of himself. It drove Lance crazy.

Seeing him pinned to the steps of a staircase under a wide, heavy, wooden beam, struggling to try to push it off of himself using only one arm because the other was trapped beneath…

That was actually sort of terrifying.

“What happened?!” asked Lance, bending down to grab onto the beam. For the moment, rivalry didn’t matter. If he could overcome his phobia to help Keith, he could overcome his insecurity.

“What do you _think_?” snapped Keith, who obviously didn’t feel the same way. “The house is burning down. Pieces break off. What are you doing here?”

“Trying...to _help…_ ” grunted Lance, who was using all of his strength just to keep the weight of the beam off Keith’s body. “What does it... _look_... _like—_ ” The beam started to slip from Lance’s fingers, and he gasped, inhaling smoke in the process. It burned, but he managed to fight his instinct to cough long enough to free Keith’s other arm, and they were able to push the beam off together. Only then did Lance start to cough.

Covering his mouth with one arm, Lance bent down and offered Keith his hand.

Keith looked at it warily for a split second, and for that split second, Lance thought that Keith wouldn’t deign so low as to accept the help.

But then his hand wrapped around Lance’s wrist, and he pulled himself up.

“You’re cold,” said Keith, still holding onto Lance’s arm. “Bytor Water?”

Lance nodded, pulled his arm back, and opened his bag. There was nothing else inside, so it didn’t take long for him to find the bottles of Bytor Water. He offered one to Keith.

“Got one more for the baker,” explained Lance, swallowing back another cough. “I-If he’s still here.”

Keith drank the Bytor Water in a single gulp and handed the bottle back to Lance. “He’s upstairs,” explained Keith. “I got up there before, but the floor collapsed before I could even get the door open.” He pointed toward a hole in the ceiling Lance would never have noticed without Keith’s help despite the size of it; there was too much smoke. “I tried to get back up, and that was when the beam fell. This whole place is falling apart.”

Lance dropped Keith’s empty Bytor Water into his bag. “No kidding. At least the stairs are still intact, right? We better get up there before they collapse, too.”

He’d barely taken his first step on the bottom stair before Keith grabbed his wrist.

“‘We’? You’re not going—”

“You’d still be trapped under that beam if it wasn’t for me,” snapped Lance, sending Keith a glare. “Clearly, this is a two-man job. We don’t have time for your crap. Buddy system or bust. Let’s move, pal.”

Lance yanked his arm free and started up the stairs. Keith didn’t say a word after that, but Lance could feel him following close behind. Apparently, he’d learned not to argue. Good for him.

The second floor was much worse than the first. It was hotter, contrasting against the ice cold Bytor Water that still ran through Lance’s veins and making him feel feverish, but _sick_ was a big improvement over _panicked_.

The smoke was thicker, too. So thick that Lance nearly missed the huge hole in the floor Keith had fallen through on his first adventure upstairs. If Keith hadn’t yanked him back by the arm, Lance would have gotten a firsthand look at what Keith had experienced.

“Watch your step,” growled Keith.

“Uh, yeah,” said Lance, eyes glued to the black, burned edges of the hole he’d nearly just walked into. “So how do we get across this?” Lance couldn’t even tell how wide the hole was through all of the smoke.

“You tell me,” said Keith.

“Me?!” squawked Lance, whipping around. “You’re the one who’s played this game for a year! You’re the one who knows how the world works! Why is it _my_ job to figure out what to do?!”

“Gee, I don’t know,” said Keith. Even he was barely visible through all the smoke. “Maybe because _you’re_ the one who insisted on coming!”

Lance had never wanted to punch someone in the face more.

He regretted what he said about Keith being his friend.

Keith was nothing but a big jerk.

A big jerk Lance wanted to punch in the face.

Later. When other people wouldn’t get hurt for it.

With an emphatic sigh, Lance turned back around and tried to see through the smoke at least far enough to see where the hole ended. It was a futile attempt.

“Think we can make it if we jump?” asked Lance.

“No, Lance,” said Keith irritably. “I don’t.”

“What if I give you a boost?”

“What?”

“Like I help you jump,” said Lance, crouching down and linking his hands together to demonstrate. “You stand on my hands, I throw you, you jump at the same time, and you get some serious air and make it over to the other side. Parents do it with their kids all the time at pools and stuff.”

“This isn’t a pool,” said Keith firmly. “And I’m not a kid. I doubt you’re going to be able to throw me that far.”

“Point taken,” admitted Lance. It only took seconds for him to think up his next idea. He touched his side of the corridor, then counted the steps it took for him to reach the wall on Keith’s side. He looked down at his legs, then Keith’s.

“Okay, new plan,” said Lance. “Crouch down like this.” He hunched over and bent his knees.

Keith mirrored his movements, albeit slowly and with a raised eyebrow.

“And put your elbows back like this.”

Again, Keith followed Lance’s instructions with a surprising lack of protest. Lance was almost tempted to see if he could make Keith do something ridiculous. Cluck like a chicken, for instance. He was already mostly there. But...maybe later, in a less dire situation.

“Okay,” said Lance. “Now turn your back to me.”

“Why?”

Lance rolled his eyes. _There_ was the doubt. He was wondering where it was. “Keith, I’m not gonna push you into the hole. I’m not that much of a jerk.”

Keith narrowed his eyes and turned around, albeit slowly.

Lance looped his arms with Keith’s elbows.

“What—”

“It’s like this,” said Lance. “We’re gonna press our backs against each other, climb partway up the wall by pressing our feet against it, and then we’re gonna have to lean on each other and kinda shuffle our way to the other side. Think you can handle that?”

“That…”

Lance raised his eyebrows and looked over his shoulder. “What, do you have a better idea?”

“Actually,” said Keith, “I was going to say that that’s...a pretty good plan.”

Okay, that wasn’t what Lance was expecting. “...Really?”

“Well…” Keith shrugged against Lance’s back. “It’s the best plan we’ve got time to make.”

And there _that_ was.

"That’s the closest to a compliment we have time to get out of you,” said Lance. “Which means I’m gonna have to take it.” He tried to take a deep breath, only to inhale a lungful of hot, thick smoke. A few uncomfortable coughs forced their way out of Lance’s throat, and he grimaced. He wasn’t gonna be able to do that over the gap or they were bound to fall.

“You ready for this?” rasped Lance, pushing against Keith’s back.

“Are you?” asked Keith, pushing right back.

“Oh, yeah,” said Lance, forcing his voice to cooperate despite the burning in his chest and throat. “I was _born_ ready.” The sooner they got out of the building, the better. If the heat and the collapsing structure didn’t get them, the smoke would.

“All right,” said Keith. “If you’re sure, lift your forward foot on three—”

“ _Forward_ foot?”

“The foot closest to the direction we’re going,” said Keith, sounding just a hair more annoyed than he sounded before.

“Right,” said Lance. “Got it. Forward foot in three…”

“Two…” Keith joined in. “One.”

Lance lifted his foot.

“Go.”

“What—”

They slipped immediately and landed on the floor, which wasn’t as solid as Lance would have liked.

“What the hell, Keith?!”

“Me?!” Keith shoved against Lance’s shoulder with his own. “You’re the one who messed us up!”

“You said on three!” snapped Lance. “Not three and _then_ go!”

“Ugh,” said Keith. “Fine. We’ll do it _your_ way.”

“The way you totally indicated!”

Keith groaned and started to count. “One…”

Lance joined in on “Two…”

And on “Three!” they lifted their legs together.

“Back foot up,” instructed Keith, taking command of the situation. “Forward up, back, forward. Stop.”

“What now?”

“What? No, that’s not— I mean this as high as we need to go. We can start going forward now.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, I knew that.” Lance cleared his throat. “So, forward?”

Keith nodded. His long hair tickled the back of Lance’s neck. Ugh, how did he stand that? “Forward.”

“Wait, is that a confirming forward, or a ‘move your forward’?”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

Lance groaned. “Okay, how about on three—actual three, not a beat _after_ three—we move our forward foot forward.”

“Sounds great,” said Keith, his voice strained, but his aggravation still audible.

“Okay, so one—”

“Two…”

“Thr—”

“Forward.”

Lance rolled his eyes. Fine. They could do it that way.

“Back,” continued Keith.

“Forward,” they said together, working on a steady rhythm. “Back… Forward… Back…”

A torrent of flame shot up from underneath, through the hole in the floor, and threaded between Lance’s legs.

Startled, Lance gasped and got a throat full of soot for his trouble.

Keith didn’t seem to notice. He just kept up their rhythm. “Forward… Back…”

Lance held his breath. He couldn’t cough. Not without sending them both crashing to the ground floor.

“Forward…” There was a certain skepticism in Keith’s voice. He sounded almost worried. “Lance?”

Lance nodded. He had to hope Keith could feel him move.

“Are you okay?”

Lance nodded again. He wished Keith would just move. He couldn’t hold his breath forever.

“Why aren’t you talking?”

Lance couldn’t hold it back much longer. He coughed. Just once.

It didn’t help. Not really. It was just enough to give Lance an immediate headache right between his eyes. But at least Keith seemed to take it as an answer.

“Hold on,” said Keith. “Just a few more steps.”

Lance nodded. It was all he could do.

“Forward foot on three,” said Keith. “One...two...three.”

This time, when they began to walk together, there was no issue. No error. They just kept walking. Right until they reached the end of the gap in the floor.

“Okay… Drop down... _now_.”

Lance let go of Keith’s arms and landed right on his rear.

Keith, of course, landed perfectly on his feet, which probably would have made Lance roll his eyes into oblivion if not for the fact that he was too busy trying to expel both lungs through his throat.

“No time,” said Keith, patting Lance’s shoulder as he rushed past. “You can cough and run at the same time.”

 _Oh, good, you’re still a douchebag,_ is what Lance would have most certainly said if he could form words. In his current state, however, the most he _could_ do was cough and run at the same time. Which is what he did.

He followed Keith to a locked door, one hand covering his mouth, and he watched Keith kick the door in.

Lance liked to believe that it was because the door had been weakened by the fire and not because Keith was just that strong.

They ran inside and found what was left of someone’s bedroom, and what was left of the someone to whom the bedroom belonged in the corner, tied to the bedpost and seemingly unconscious.

At least, Lance _hoped_ the Arusian was just unconscious.

Keith ran to the bedpost and pulled his knife out of his belt. With one deft cut, the Arusian was free, and Keith pulled him to his chest as if he were holding a child before rushing past Lance without a word.

“How are we supposed to cross that gap without dropping him?” asked Lance, half-jogging to keep up.

“We don’t,” said Keith, rushing ahead. “We jump down.”

“What’s below us?” asked Lance.

“Ten minutes ago?” asked Keith, stopping at the edge of the gap. “The kitchen.” He peered down into the smoky hole. “Right now? No clue.”

And with that, he jumped down.

“Keith!” screeched Lance, dropping to his knees at the edge of the hole. “Are you crazy?!”

“If you have a better idea,” called Keith’s voice through the hole, the rest of him completely shielded from view by the thick smoke, “I’d love to hear it.”

Lance groaned. Keith had a point. There was no other option.

Lance climbed to his feet, glared down into the hole in the floor, and with a quiet mumble of “Here goes nothing,” he jumped.

A painful shock surged through Lance’s knees and ankles when he hit the floor. He hadn’t been able to brace himself for the impact when he couldn’t even tell when the impact was coming, but at least he hadn’t fallen.

Grimacing, he lifted his head and looked up at Keith, who was already making his way out of the kitchen with the Arusian.

Lance stood up straight and followed behind Keith, moving a bit slower than before thanks to the protest of his newly-injured joints.

It was like walking into Hell. The ground floor was so much worse than it had been before. More of the beams from the ceiling had fallen down. There was debris everywhere. Lance could barely even tell where the open door was anymore through all the smoke.

In truth, it was easier to see Keith’s silhouette in front of the door than it was to see the door itself.

But Lance could hear everything. He could hear every crackle in the fire, every groan of the support beams. He could hear the pop of breaking glass.

He could hear every single snap as the ceiling began to cave in.

And he heard every single scream inside his head when he realized that every splintered, nail-pierced piece of flaming wood was about to completely bury everything between the entrance of the bakery and the kitchen door.

Including—      

“ _Keith_!”

It all came crumbling down at once.

Keith whipped around at the sound of his name.

Lance threw out an arm instinctively.

And suddenly, everything in that blazing bakery felt very, very cold.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :]


	15. Target

"Uh, Shiro? My silver star? Light of my life? Best buddy in the whole wide world?"

Shiro's hands froze over his keyboard. Uh-oh. The pet names. Those were never a good sign. He warily lifted his head and looked over the top of his laptop screen to Matt, who was seated in front of his computer monitor, chair swiveled around so that his back was turned toward his screen, blocking it from view.

_Uh-oh._

"Yes?"

Matt slowly steepled his fingers. "You know I'm going to love you forever, right? That we're best friends until the end of time and nothing could ever change that?"

Shiro grimaced. He still didn't know what was wrong, but he was already dreading the consequences of whatever happened. "Of course."

Matt closed his eyes and pressed his still-steepled fingers to his lips. He took a long, deep breath over the ends of his fingers and exhaled in a sharp sigh. "Shiro." He dropped his hands and wheeled his desk chair out of the way with a single push of one foot, revealing the monstrosity he'd been covering up prior to that moment. "What the hell is this?"

It took several seconds for what Shiro was looking at to sink in, but when it did, he let his face fall into one of his hands and just started giggling.

"Shiro," said Matt, audibly stifling laughter of his own. "Shiro, this isn't... This isn't funny."

"I forgot I made that," admitted Shiro, peeking at Matt between his pinky and his ring finger. It was a miracle he was able to form any words at all between the helpless giggles.

"How did you forget you made something like that?!" demanded Matt.

"I was just trying to adjust to the program—"

"So you experimented by making the most horrifying devil spawn you could think of?! Look at it! It has a human face!"

"I couldn't figure out how to edit a shape I already—"

"You just titled it 'moose'! All lower-case letters! You gave no indication of what I was getting into! No warning whatsoever!"

"It was just supposed to be a normal moose—"

"That's not a moose, Shiro!"

Shiro threw his head back and the giggles gave way to full, uproarious belly laughs. Any attempts to hold a conversation after that point were utterly moot.

"This isn't a laughing matter! You've clearly given form to some demon older than time itself! This thing is gonna crawl through the monitor and consume our souls! We're cursed!"

Matt's every word of protest only served to make Shiro laugh harder. There was a harsh clatter of a chair being shoved aside and the weight from Shiro's laptop was knocked abruptly from his lap to the center of the bed. Shiro barely had the chance to open the eyes he'd pressed shut in his mirth to see Matt's grinning face hovering right in front of his own before his view was obscured again, this time by Matt's hands. In fact, his whole face was covered, which just made him laugh harder.

"Be quiet!" said Matt, fighting snickers with every syllable. "You're aggravating the demon!"

Shiro grabbed Matt's wrists and pulled his hands down. "It's just a moose!"

"That's _not_ a _moose, Shiro_!" protested Matt again, much louder. It seemed that was what finally broke him, because he didn't even bother trying to stifle his laughter after that point. He just fell forward, pressed his forehead against Shiro's chest, and cackled with laughter so powerful and so real that it shook his entire body.

There was no point resisting it after that. Shiro released Matt's wrists, freeing his own arms to wrap around Matt's back and yank him into a tight, laugh-seasoned hug. They rode out their giggle fits together, holding each other tight until the laughs steadily replaced themselves with "phews" and "Christs" and heavy, half-disbelieving sighs.

How they'd wound up lying on Matt's bed with their sides pressed tightly against one another, Shiro wasn't sure. But he didn't mind. Not at all.

"I missed hearing you laugh like that," said Matt, taking Shiro off-guard by speaking the exact words he'd been about to say himself.

"Has it been that long?" asked Shiro, raising his eyebrows and looking down at Matt, whose head was more or less pressed against Shiro's shoulder.

"Long enough for me to miss it," insisted Matt, looking back up with a small, muted smile.

"I guess I've had a lot on my mind lately." Shiro shrugged the shoulder that wouldn't bother Matt. "I, uh... I finished unpacking."

Matt stayed silent for several seconds that seemed to last minutes. "...Oh." He sat up slowly and pulled his knees up to rest his arms on top of them. All Shiro saw of Matt for a long time was his hair over his hunched shoulders. Then, he slowly reached down behind him and turned to look at Shiro over his shoulder.

"So...when are you...?"

"Tomorrow," said Shiro before the word could get lodged in his throat.

"Right..." Matt's hand sought out Shiro's and gave it a gentle squeeze. Shiro squeezed back, perhaps a little too tight, but Matt didn't seem to mind. "Well, if it goes poorly—"

" _When_ it goes poorly," corrected Shiro, turning his gaze to the popcorn ceiling.

" _If_ it goes poorly," insisted Matt, "then you're free to stay here for a while if you want. My parents won't mind. You know they won't. Even if they don't know what's going on."

"You know the reason I wanted to get settled in my new apartment first was so I wouldn't have to rely on someone else, right?"

Matt lied back against the duvet and squeezed Shiro's hand tighter. "A bed to sleep in isn't the only reason you might need to rely on someone," he said, his voice feather-soft. "There's no shame in not wanting to be alone. And it doesn't have to be me. I'm sure Allura or Keith would love to have you just as much as we would. I just wanted to let you know that you're welcome here no matter what."

Shiro closed his eyes. "Thanks," he murmured. "Let's just hope it doesn't come to that."

 

* * *

 

Of all the people on Earth and in Altea that Keith could have expected to show up and save him, Lance was the least likely.

And yet there Lance was.

Keith was desperate enough that he would have accepted help from anyone, Lance included, so he didn’t argue when Lance helped push the ceiling beam off of his chest. Nor did he argue when offered the bottle of Bytor Water he'd deemed too time-consuming to pick up before. And admittedly, though unorthodox, Lance’s idea for crossing the gap that had burned through the floor was a good one, and it got them on the other side safely.

By the time Keith was back on the ground floor, he had meandered through denial, anger, and bargaining and he could admit to himself that he could never have saved the baker without Lance’s help.

He owed Lance his thanks. Maybe even an apology.

But he could worry about that when they weren’t trying to escape a burning building.

“Keith!” screeched Lance. Grateful or not, Keith still found him the slightest bit annoying. “Are you crazy?!”

Keith tilted his head back and glared up through the smoke. “If you have a better idea, I’d love to hear it.”

No response. That was surprising, but not unwelcome. The less Lance said, the less time Keith needed to waste on answering. Keith clutched the Arusian to his chest and hurried in the direction of the door, quick to get out of Lance's landing zone, out of the house in general. He should have gotten out of the building as soon as possible. He was carrying an unconscious person, someone who was helpless, probably dying, who needed to get out of the smoke fast...but he still paused just short of the door. He didn't turn around to see if Lance was following, but...he waited. Just hopeful that Lance would catch up, that he would call out for Keith to wait for him or something. Any indication that he was close behind.

Keith closed his eyes and listened hard through the crackling of the fire splintering the wood all around him.

He couldn't save two people. He didn't have the time.

_Please, be right behind me._

" _Keith_!"

Keith's heart stopped pounding so frantically, but only for a split-second, just before it sank in how horrified Lance sounded. He whipped around as quickly as his body was allowed, but not fast enough to see what had happened. Only the effect it caused.

That being that the entire ceiling was coated with a thick layer of ice. A layer so thick and strong that it held up the entire second story of the bakery.

It should have been impressive. A Mage casting a spell that big at such a presumably low level was noteworthy. But through the smoke that Lance had mostly dissipated as a side-effect of the magic in the air, Keith could see Lance's reaction, and it wasn't the smug I-told-you-so grin Keith was expecting.

He was just staring at his hands, like he'd never cast a spell before. Even in the low glow of the firelight, Keith could tell how pale he was.

_What in Altea...?_

"Lance!" called Keith, his voice barely cutting through the roar of the flames.

Lance's head jerked up, eyes wide.

"Get a move on!"

Keith's only confirmation that Lance had heard him was that he'd started running, but that was enough. He turned back around and crossed what was left of the distance between himself and the front door of the bakery.

The second Keith emerged from the building, an entire team of Arusian healers swarmed around him and began tugging on his robes, leading him away from the building and toward a pallet of blankets that had been set up on the grass a fair distance from the fire. The tugs moved from Keith's robes to his arms and Keith kneeled to help the healers take the baker from his arms.

"You should get healed, too," said one of the healers, tugging on Keith's upper arm.

Keith stole a glance at his debuffs from the fire, at his low health, and then over his shoulder.

Lance was still near the burning building, doubled over on the grass, and, from what Keith could tell, dry-heaving.

"I'll take you up on that offer," said Keith climbing to his full height, "but there's something I have to do first. Hold a place for me." He glanced over his shoulder again, just briefly. "Two places."

The Arusian looked up at Keith, then followed his gaze to where he kept looking. It seemed she got the idea, because all she did after that was nod before turning her attention back to the baker.

Keith stepped off of the pallet and onto the grass. Lance didn't lift his head once until Keith was right in front of him.

"Uh, hey," said Keith uncertainly. He kneeled on the grass in front of Lance. "Are you...okay?"

Lance managed to glance up at Keith for less than a second before his stomach seemed to flop and he clapped a hand over his mouth. A quiet, distressed moan passed through his fingers, but nothing else did, and he slowly lowered his hand. "I'm fine," he grumbled, his voice low and decidedly grumpy. "Just figuring out the hard way that you don't throw up in Altea. If you could, I would have done it by now." He dropped forward and pressed his forehead to the grass. "Ugh, I feel like Hunk."

Keith cocked an eyebrow. Like...Hunk? Was that an expression he'd never heard before? Was it a euphemism, something a little more polite to trade for feeling like shit?

Not wanting to look like an idiot, Keith didn't ask. The only thing he asked was, "Do you need help standing? We should probably get you away from the fire."

"The only way I'm going anywhere," grumbled Lance, "is if you have a cure for Bytor Water."

"A cure?" Keith frowned. Last time he checked, Bytor Water wasn't a status effect.

"I don't..." Lance grabbed a fistful of grass. "...like being cold."

Keith furrowed his brow. No one liked being cold, so there was nothing odd about wanting to warm up in and of itself, but Lance sounded a bit more than just averse to being a little chilly. "Do you have any Fire Oil left? The effects of Bytor Water only disappear with time, but Fire Oil might take some of the edge off until it does."

Lance sighed and his shoulders sank. He cautiously raised his head, and a smudge of dirt on his forehead had joined the soot stains on the rest of his face. "I don't have anything I had in the mountains anymore. It's all in a drop pile in some mermaid village on the mountain."

"Drop pile?" Keith narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer, pressing his knuckles against the ground. "You...didn't _die_?"

" _Oh_ , yeah," said Lance. He sat back on his heels and wiped at the corner of his mouth with the cloth bracer around his wrist. "I _definitely_ died. Got stabbed right in the back. Turns out that Galra guy didn't like being tailed."

Keith's eyes widened. "I—" His brain whirred and clicked as it raced to catch up with whatever it was that Lance had just said, because it couldn't be what he'd heard, or he had to be interpreting incorrectly, or— "You tried to— You died following him. Why?"

Lance rolled his eyes. “Just because you’re a jerk doesn’t mean everyone has to be. Don’t get your panties in a bunch, _Red Warrior_.”

Keith sighed and kneaded his forehead with his knuckles. That didn’t answer his question. That was just sass.

“Whatever,” said Keith dropping his hand to his lap. “You died. Do you know what that means?”

“I’m in hell?” offered Lance, smirking. “I mean, I did just come out of a fire, and you’re here.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “It means you have a hidden status effect. Congratulations, you’re officially undead.”

Lance’s eyes widened. The smirk melted right off.

“I wouldn’t recommend using a healing item.”

Lance groaned and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Whose bright idea—”

“Shiro’s.”

The look Lance sent Keith when he lowered his hands could have curdled milk. “So what do I _do about it_?”

“Normally,” said Keith, “you’d have to see a Shaman, but Arus only had one Shaman, and she…” He bit his lip. Maybe it was better not to scare Lance. It seemed like he got defensive a little too easily for that. “I can do it.”

“You can get rid of my undead status?” Lance narrowed his eyes. “You’re not secretly a necromancer or something, are you? Is this going to put me under your spell or—”

“It’s just a ritual.” Keith stood up and dusted his robes off. They were slightly singed; he’d have to talk to the seamstress later. “And a Shaman’s job is just that. A job. Anyone can do it as long as they know how.”

“Why do you know how?” asked Lance, peering up at Keith skeptically.

“Because I live in Arus,” said Keith heavily. Lance’s stubborn dislike of him was tiresome. “I don’t like staying dead when I die.” He took a step back. “And I don’t like depending on other people anyway.” He looked back at the blanket with the healers. The potion seller was there as well, despite being a mage. Good.

“I’ll be back in a second,” said Keith, looking down again.

Lance raised his eyebrows.

Keith hesitated. What was _that_ look for? “Uh… I promise?”

Lance clicked his tongue. “Just go.”

Keith sent Lance one last confused frown, but that didn’t stop him from doing as Lance said.

He half-jogged to the blanket and reached for the potion seller’s shoulder.

“Hey—”

As soon as the potion seller saw who Keith was, he jumped up and latched around his middle.

Keith awkwardly patted his back.

Arusians. Very cuddly.

“Um… It’s good to see you, too,” said Keith. “But I actually came over here to make a purchase. If that’s okay, I mean.”

“For you?” The potion seller dropped his tiny feet back down to the blanket. “Always. What do you need?”

“A Pink Potion and two Western Winds, if you’ve got them on hand,” said Keith. He spared a brief glance over his shoulder, where Lance was.

Lance shrugged his shoulders in a way that very clearly asked, _What are_ you _looking at?_

Keith turned back to the potion seller. “And if you’ve got some Yendailian Fire Oil, I’ll take some of that—”

“Red Warrior…”

Keith fell silent as a weak voice beckoned his ear. He turned toward it and he found the baker lying on the ground not far from him, barely visible through the healers surrounding him. His glasses had been removed, leaving spectacle-shaped stains around his temples and the bridge of his nose.

“Hey.” Keith moved away from the potion seller and kneeled by the injured baker, careful to stay out of the way of the healers. “How are you feeling?”

The baker shook his head. “You should not have saved me.”

Keith furrowed his brow. “What?”

The baker tried to sit up, only to be pushed back down to the blanket by a healer. He raised his hand and stretched it out toward Keith.

Keith took the hand, and when the baker tugged on him, he leaned in closer.

“The Galra,” said the baker, his voice hoarse from the burning smoke, “are looking for you—”

“I know,” said Keith. “Don’t worry about that.”

“No—” The baker coughed and tugged Keith’s hand more insistently, beckoning him even closer. “You don’t understand. They wanted to confirm that you would go to where danger is.”

“If it was a trap,” said Keith, “then where are the Galra?”

“It isn’t a trap,” said the baker, his large, Arusian eyes narrowing darkly. “It was a test. And you just proved their hypothesis.”

 

* * *

 

Lance was getting impatient.

He watched Keith flit back and forth from one Arusian to the next, never staying longer than a minute or two, but always moving to the next Arusian when he was finished talking to one. Lance was reminded strongly of how it felt every time he was out with his mother and she bumped into someone she knew.

The difference was that he loved his mother dearly and was willing to wait for her.

Keith, on the other hand, was testing Lance’s patience. And thanks to the ice running through Lance’s veins, he didn’t have a whole lot of patience left to test.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Keith finally said his last words to the potion seller and began making his way back to where Lance was.

“Are you done catching up with your girlfriends?” Lance narrowed his eyes, his arms wrapped tight around his middle.

“I was getting supplies,” said Keith in a warning tone.

Lance smirked. “Supplies for what? An ice cream social?”

“The opposite,” said Keith.

He suddenly tossed something, so suddenly that Lance barely had time to realize he was supposed to catch it in time to do so.

Warmth spread through his hand the second his palm hit the glass.

“Fire Oil?” Lance glanced down at the bottle in his hand, then back up. “You got me Fire Oil?” He narrowed his eyes and lowered the bottle. “Is this a trick?”

“This is me not wanting to hear you whine the whole way.”

“The whole way where?”

“To my house.”

“Your _house_?” Lance climbed warily to his feet, still gripping onto the bottle. It was so nice and warm on his hand he almost didn’t want to drink it. “Why are we going to your _house_?”

“Because that’s where the ritual’s set up,” said Keith.

Lance narrowed his eyes and sized Keith up. “...Why does this feel like stranger danger?”

“It’s _not_ ,” snapped Keith. “It’s just faster this way. If you want to spend the next twenty-four vargas setting everything up on your own and either messing something up or getting yourself killed again, be my guest.”

Lance looked down at the bottle of Fire Oil, then back at Keith.

It was strange, but Lance trusted that one little bottle of oil more than every single time Keith had saved him up to that point. He could have any number of reasons for wanting to keep Lance alive, but bothering to bring him something that would fight off the cold from the Bytor Water—and the spell Lance had cast—was something Lance couldn’t imagine Keith doing out of anything less than the kindness of his heart.

Lance uncapped the bottle and shotgunned the entire thing before tossing it at Keith.

The warmth hit him quick, like Lance had just been wrapped in a blanket straight out of the dryer.

“All right,” said Lance, putting his hands on his hips and rolling his shoulders. He popped his neck—stiff from the cold—and sent Keith a confident smirk. “Let’s do this.”

Keith looked down at the empty bottle in his hand, then back up at Lance. “‘This’ being...going to my house.” He furrowed his brow. “Why did you say it like we’re about to take on a boss or something?”

“I didn’t say it like anything,” said Lance, his smirk disappearing instantly.

“Right,” said Keith, bearing no expression at all. He reached into his bag and pulled out an octahedron-shaped bottle containing a fluid in a color that sat comfortably between what could be called teal and forest green. He tossed it to Lance with an underhand throw.

Lance caught the bottle and arched an eyebrow. “What’s this one?” he asked, inspecting the hand-sized bottle.

“Shortcut,” said Keith, who already had a matching bottle in his hand.

Keith uncorked his bottle and lifted it to his lips. The second he tipped it back, a green whirlwind kicked up around his feet. It swirled upward in a narrow band, consuming Keith like a wormhole. In its wake, it left nothing but air, and in only seconds, Keith was gone.

Lance looked back down at the bottle in his hand and uncorked it with a sigh.

“Bottoms up, I guess.”

 

* * *

 

Daibazaal always seemed to be shrouded in smoke lately.

It seemed like every time she walked through it, something new was on fire. The smoke was so thick it was hard to breathe, and embers seemed to fall as consistently as snow in winter. The sky was always aglow with the red-orange of flame, like a sunset that lasted all day and night.

Daibazaal was burning itself to the ground.

And no matter how curious she was, she couldn’t waste time trying to figure out why.

Because as awful as the smoke was, as awful as every burned down home, every razed library, every destroyed garden could be, the smoke was only as half as terrible as the blue light that cut _through_ the smoke.

It rose out of the top of Zarkon’s palace like smoke itself, light unstopped by wood or stone, and climbed high into the sky, far above where even the smoke reached.

And by the end of the day, it would vanish.

But until then, it would serve as a reminder, a reminder that she’d failed yet again.

And if the rumors were true…

...if Zarkon really had gotten his hands on a Fallen Star…

...then it wouldn’t be long before that strange, blue light became just as much of a constant in Daibazaal’s black sky as the smoke itself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how late this chapter was, guys. This past week was torture.


	16. Fast Travel

Matt slept easy. His chest rose and fell like he didn't have a care in the world. His lips were slightly parted, the blankets he draped over himself lied wrinkled and rumpled across his stomach, his arms stretched over his head, eyes motionless behind his eyelids.

Shiro, though...

Shiro was wide awake.

He sat on the edge of Matt's bed, the very bed Matt insisted on sharing on the grounds that it might help ease some of Shiro's anxiety.

It didn't.

But it was a nice thought.

Of course, most of Matt's thoughts were nice.

Despite the twist of despair and groundless guilt in his stomach, Shiro still couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips as he watched Matt sleep. It was a comfort to know that at least one of them was sleeping soundly.

But that wasn't the only reason Shiro was smiling, and he knew it.

Allura knew it, too, and she was an angel for being so understanding. Shiro still wasn't sure how she'd been brave enough to ask Shiro for a date when she'd been listening to Shiro vent about his feelings for Matt over the past year. He was glad, though. Glad that she was brave. Shiro couldn't imagine anyone else in the world being so encouraging when Shiro told her about Matt’s offer.

 _Of course,_ she'd said. _If I'd been dealing with racism all day, I can guarantee you, I would want to unwind with black friends afterward, given the choice._

There was more to it than just that.

They both knew it.

But Allura had just smiled and kissed him on the nose and told him, "Go on."

And when Shiro gave in, when he'd knocked on the Holts' door and Matt answered, when he saw Matt's face and the choked sob he'd been fighting all day finally broke out of him, he knew Allura had been right to leave him in Matt's care.

But after hours of crying and watching movies in the dark and curling up with blankets like a child and eating breakfast for dinner—because Matt Holt was a perfect man from a family of perfect people—Matt had finally run out of steam.

And Shiro was left alone with everything he'd dealt with all day swirling around in his head like angry, territorial betta fish in a too-small bowl.

As slowly and silently as possible, Shiro slipped the blankets off his lap and stood from the edge of Matt's bed. The floor creaked when his feet hit the carpet, but a cursory glance over Shiro's shoulder confirmed that it hadn't woken Matt up.

Relieved, Shiro stepped into the hallway.

The hallway wasn't quite as dark as Matt's room; blue night lights were attached to nearly every outlet leading from the bathroom to the kitchen. They always served as a comforting reminder that Shiro was at Matt's house. The blue lights, the constant presence of diet cola in the fridge, and the odd smell, like peaches and cinnamon and sage and tiny hints of a million other scents Shiro couldn't quite put his finger on, were all home to him, more than his parents' home had ever really been.

But that didn't make losing his old home forever any easier.

Shiro grabbed a plastic cup from one of the cabinets and ran it under the faucet. He should have been drinking more water than he had been, considering how much he'd been crying—hell, Matt had spent half the day trying to get him to do just that—but he'd been too apathetic to bother. It was hard not to regret that when it felt like his skull was trying to implode, though.

Once the cup was full of lukewarm, filtered water, Shiro shotgunned the entire thing, then ran his cup under the faucet again to refill it.

"Shiro?"

The sudden vocalization of his name made Shiro jump so violently that some of the water in his glass went flying out. He quickly twisted the spigot and turned around, glass only half-filled.

Sam Holt stood behind him, glasses glinting in the dim light, a kind smile on his wizened face. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"It's all right," said Shiro, sighing. "What are you doing awake?"

"Oh, this is pretty normal for me," said Sam. "No idea how Colleen puts up with it. Bless her heart for it, though. No idea what I'd do without her."

"Uh, right." Shiro cleared his throat. For all the times he'd spoken to Sam and Colleen, and even with Pidge, he still felt like he had to win them over every time he spoke to them. But for the moment, Shiro just didn't have the strength for that. "Well, I, uh, hope you get some sleep soon." He tipped his half-filled glass toward Sam in an odd sort of toast and turned away to make his way back toward Matt's room, only to be stopped by a gentle hand on his arm.

"Now, hold on a second, sport. I wanted to talk to you."

_Oh, boy._

Shiro turned around and tried his hardest to keep his expression diplomatic. "Okay." His headache was killing him. "Sure." He just wanted to crawl back into Matt's bed and never come out. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Well," said Sam, lowering his hand, "I wanted to talk about how you're feeling. I know you didn't come here today for happy reasons."

Shiro fought off a wince. "I'll be fine," he assured Sam. "Don't worry about me."

"Let me rephrase that." Sam adjusted his glasses. They reflected the light from the night light over the counter in the exact same way Matt's glasses always seemed to catch the light from his monitor in just the right way when he was thinking. "What I wanted to say is that I know the reason you're here today, and I wanted to talk about that."

The wince Shiro had been fighting fought back. "Matt told you, didn't he?"

"Oh, no," said Sam. "He wouldn't betray your trust like that. My boy knows how to keep a secret. I just happened to be walking by his door while the two of you were talking earlier."

Shiro sighed. That made sense. "Were the waffles your idea, too?"

"Those were Colleen's, actually," said Sam. "She didn't need to know the reason you were upset to try to cheer you up."

"And you didn't tell her?" asked Shiro, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"It's still your business," said Sam. "Just because I happened to find out about your secret by chance doesn't mean I'm about to tell the whole world."

Shiro nodded. The hand holding onto his glass was shaking. He wasn't sure when that started. "So... What did you want to talk about?"

It seemed like an eternity passed before Sam answered. A thousand possibilities ran through Shiro's head. Disapproval over Shiro and Matt sharing a bed. Questions about any number of the things Shiro and Matt shared that might have seemed less than platonic. Asking Shiro to leave and never come back.

But all Sam did was take a deep breath, adjust his glasses again, and smile. "As you know, I'm a father of two beautiful queer children. When my first child came out to me and Colleen almost ten years ago, I loved him just as much as I have every day since the day he was born, and when my second child announced over dinner with just as much pride as anxiety that they had collected every a-prefix they could get their hands on, I was just as honored to have that asexual, aromantic, agender child as I was to have a child with such a witty sense of humor. I'm grateful every single day for Matt and Pidge. Without them and Colleen, well, my life would have no meaning at all."

Shiro frowned. "...But...?"

"And," corrected Sam sternly, "I'm sorry you're in a situation where you think there's a 'but' attached to the end of that proclamation. I love my family. Full stop. And I feel sorry for your parents, because they can't see what a gift you are."

Shiro's eyes were already wide before Sam clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"I know this might not seem like much in the face of all you've dealt with," said Sam, "but for what it's worth, you're not going without a family. Whether you decide to come out to all of the Holts or not, I can promise you, we're never gonna say no to having one more pan in our kitchen."

Shiro wasn't sure which came first.

Maybe it was the tears.

Maybe it was the laughter.

But when Matt came out to see where Shiro had disappeared to and found him sitting on the floor, Sam Holt rubbing his shoulders while he tried to stop crying for what felt like the tenth time that day, Shiro just lifted his head and sent a very confused- and worried-looking Matt a genuine, tear-stained smile.

"Hey, Matt. I know where you get your sense of humor from, now."

 

* * *

 

When the flurry of green wind cleared from Lance’s vision, he was standing in a valley, in front of a gate. Though gate, perhaps, was a bit of an understatement, considering the size of the great, stone barrier it was attached to.

The wall, though made of humble, gray stone, was anything but humble in its entirety. It was tall, so tall that Lance would have had to have been lying down on the ground to be able to see the top.

“Holy crow,” he mused, putting his hands on his hips and craning backward as far as he could stretch.

“I’m guessing this is your first time seeing the barrier.”

Lance quickly lowered his gaze and straightened his back and he found Keith staring at him, sizing him up.

“I mean, I knew the barrier was here,” said Lance quickly, crossing his arms. “I just wanted to focus on Arus first.”

Keith furrowed his brow and averted his eyes. “Right.” He turned his head toward the green doors of the gate, doors perhaps twice their size. Large, but dwarfed in comparison to the walls themselves. “Do you know how the Four Gates work?”

Lance, who had no idea what Keith was talking about but didn’t want to seem stupid in front of Keith, just raised his eyebrows. “Do _you_?”

Keith sighed and put his hand on the door.

The columns of iron studs that decorated the door all began to glow, and they continued to glow even as Keith lowered his hand from the door.

“How familiar are you with the five types of magic?” he asked, turning around to face Lance again.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Like, in the game?”

Keith sighed. He didn’t seem angry, just disappointed. “Why else would I ask— It’s the elements, Lance, like every other game that has ever existed. Fire, Water, Air, Earth, and Aether.” He turned back to the door. “Everyone has a type of magic that can’t change no matter what class you’re using. If you got rid of your Mage and made a new character, you would still use Water-based abilities because it’s based on your personality. Just like I’m always going to be stuck with Fire-based abilities no matter what I do.”

“Okay…” said Lance slowly, looking back at the door. “So that’s why the door’s glowing red now?”

“Right,” said Keith. “If you touched it, the studs in the door would be glowing blue instead.”

“Okay, cool, cool…” Lance took a step closer to the door and bent down to inspect one of the red lights. “So what does that have to do with anything?”

“It changes what I have to do to make the door open,” said Keith. “It’s that combined with the legend the gate represents.”

Keith pointed up, and Lance looked above the door to find something he hadn’t noticed before, too enchanted by the sheer size of the wall: the image of a goblet was engraved into the stone.

“Every gate represents an Arusian folk tale. The story this door represents is—”

“It’s _The Golden Bridge of Nalquod_ , right?”

Lance caught Keith’s shoulders tense in his peripheral vision and he met Keith’s eyes as he turned around, mouth agape.

Lance countered Keith’s palpable shock with a stern glare. “Oh, what? You thought I was too stupid to know _anything_ just because I didn’t know one or two things you did?”

“No, I just…” He raised his eyebrows, averted his eyes and shrugged. “I… Never mind. Good job, Lance.”

Lance cocked an eyebrow. It only took a second for him to realize what was going on. Once it sank in, the grin on his face was unstoppable.

“You totally got stumped on this door, didn’t you?” Lance sidled in closer and elbowed Keith in the ribs. “You had _no idea_ which folk tale it was at first, did you? I’ll bet you had to _ask someone_ —”

“How do _you_ know?” demanded Keith, whipping his head around so fast his hair hit his cheek.

“Because you’re embarrassed—”

“No, not that,” said Keith, impatient. “How do you know which folk tale it was? You’ve only been in Arus for eight movements tops. I doubt you spent all that time reading.”

“All of it, no,” said Lance. “A fourth of it, eh, maybe.” He shrugged. “Gotta keep myself entertained at night _somehow_.”

Keith furrowed his brow again. He seemed to do that a lot. “Well, great,” he said, sounding closer to irritated than anything else. Lance was starting to wonder whether that was just how his voice sounded. Constantly annoyed. “So it’s a love story. Out of the four legends, it’s probably the easiest to figure out—”

“And yet, you still managed to get stuck on it,” said Lance, smirking boldly. “How does that make you feel?”

Keith sighed angrily and pressed his eyes shut. “As I was saying... What makes the door open depends on what kind of magic you use. If you use Aether magic, you have to do a puzzle that has to do with the legend. If you use Earth magic, you have to bring something to do with the story to the door. My guess is it would be a cup. And if you use Fire magic, you have to act.”

Lance snorted. “Like what, you have to act the story out like a play?”

“Not quite,” said Keith.

He held out his hand.

Lance looked down at it.

“...Oh, no.”

“Yes.”

“I am _not—_ ”

“Yes, you are.”

“No. No way.”

“Do you want to stay undead?”

Lance groaned. To think he’d actually enjoyed _The Golden Bridge of Nalquod_. To think he actually thought it was _cute_.

If he’d known when he was reading it that he’d wind up reenacting the bridge crossing scene with _Keith_ of all people, he’s sure he would have had a much different opinion of the entire story.

“Ugh, fine.”

Lance took Keith’s hand much more roughly than the story probably intended. He snatched Keith’s hand like he was five years old and wresting a toy from his big sister’s arms. He yanked it down, out of his peripheral vision, and didn’t meet Keith’s eyes once.

A loud click echoed through the valley.

Keith reached for one of the large, hanging handles on one of the enormous doors and pulled it open. It swung toward him with surprising ease, revealing a dark tunnel.

Not quite the romantic, sunlit river the folk tale portrayed.

But thank goodness for that.

“Don’t let go of my hand until we get to the other side,” said Keith, stepping into the darkness. “We’ll just wind up outside the doors again.”

“Great,” grumbled Lance, grudgingly following the tug of Keith’s hand. “It’s _actually_ the crossing of the bridge. Just what I always wanted.”

“What do you mean?”

The second both of Lance’s feet had touched the floor of the tunnel, the door shut behind him, earning a surprised squeal that Lance would swear up and down was nothing less than a manly grunt of surprise if asked.

“Not good with the dark?” asked Keith. Lance could _hear_ the smug little smile on his face.

“It just _surprised me_ ,” insisted Lance. “That’s all. So you can wipe that smirk off your face.”

“I’m not smirking.”

“You totally are.”

“...Okay. Maybe a little.”

“You’re the worst.”

Keith tightened his hold on Lance’s hand, reminding him uncomfortably of the situation they were in. “Come on,” he said, his voice layered with vaguely-masked amusement. “The sooner we get through the tunnel, the sooner you can get out of the dark.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. He knew what was coming. He was just _waiting for it_.

“...Scaredy-cat.”

And there it was.

“Jackass.”

At the behest of Keith’s tugging, Lance began to walk.

“Isn’t there a way to light this place up?” asked Lance.

“I’ve tried everything,” said Keith. “Normal fire, lanterns made from Balmeran crystals, Scaultrite lit by Altean Energy… Nothing works. I think they intended it to be pitch black for some reason. Maybe they wanted it to be, I don’t know, mysterious.”

“‘They’ being Matt and Shiro?”

Keith fell silent.

Very silent.

Even their footsteps didn’t seem to make noise in the pitch-black tunnel.

Lance found himself missing the insufferable, audible smirk from before.

Everything felt oddly different in the dark. For the moment, Lance could forget that it was Keith he was walking with.

Or maybe not so much that it was Keith, but that he’d been feuding with Keith.

It felt like a blank slate.

Maybe that was why Lance didn’t feel awkward breaking the silence with a personal question.

“What happened between you guys?”

Keith sighed. His hand wrapped tighter around Lance’s for a brief moment, then loosened again.

“It’s a long story,” he said softly. “And a stupid one.”

Lance scoffed. He hoped it didn’t sound too unkind. “If it was that stupid, you would have patched things up already.”

“Maybe,” said Keith. “In another reality, we probably _would_ have patched things up by now, but…”

He trailed off.

Maybe he just wasn’t ready to talk about it with someone like Lance.

And Lance couldn’t really blame him for that.

“So what were you saying earlier?” asked Keith after roughly five doboshes of silence. “About this being exactly like the story?”

Lance raised his eyebrows. “Have you never read it?”

“Well…” Lance heard Keith lick his lips. “Matt and Shiro were cheesy. Really cheesy. They liked to sneak tributes to each other into the game. There are Easter Eggs everywhere. Stuff like carvings of their initials on trees in Olkarion. Even the name of the game. The first syllable is just their names combined.”

“Oh, my god.”

“I know—”

“It’s their _ship name_. I never even _noticed_ —”

“Their what?”

Lance laughed weakly and rubbed his forehead. If Matt wasn’t still a sore spot for Shiro, there would have been no way Lance could have resisted dragging him for that embarrassment. “Nothing, it’s just… _Wow_ , they’re cheesy.”

“Well, exactly,” said Keith. “So...I didn’t want to read something I was pretty sure was just going to be a retelling of how they met or...something.”

Lance winced. “Okay, I can definitely see why you wouldn’t be into that. But it’s just one of those typical ‘a god and a mortal fall in love’ stories that every culture has. I doubt it has anything to do with Matt and Shiro.”

“If you knew Matt, you wouldn’t be so sure.”

“Yeah? He worshipped Shiro?”

“I wouldn’t say _worshipped_ ,” said Keith. “I mean, they weren’t _unhealthy_ , but Matt definitely looked at Shiro with one of those…‘like he put all the stars in the sky’ looks. I’ll never know how it took Shiro so long to figure out that wasn’t a _platonic_ look.”

“Well, it’s not like Shiro would have had anything to compare it to,” said Lance, shrugging. “If he’s _Shiro_ , and that’s how Matt looks when _Shiro’s_ around, then he’s always gonna see that look. He’s gonna think it’s normal.”

“Hm.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Did you have a crush on one of them or something—”

“What?! _No_!” Keith stopped abruptly. His hand nearly slipped out of Lance’s—it would have, had Lance not tightened his grip.

“Hey! No letting go!” warned Lance. “I am _not_ going through this whole tunnel again. It’s _long_.”

“Sorry,” said Keith. And honestly, despite how terse it was, Lance genuinely believed that he _was_ sorry. “That question just...really… Shiro’s my _cousin_.”

“ _Ohh_.” Lance squinted, as if that would help him see through the darkness. If he thought about it, he could sort of see the resemblance. Sort of. They didn’t have the same eyes. Or the same bone structure. But there _had_ been something vaguely familiar about Keith when they met, hadn’t there? “What about Matt?”

“Not my type,” said Keith. “At all. He was a good friend, and he was good to Shiro, but...he was practically my brother-in-law. As far as I’m concerned, he’s family, too. Or...was.”

Lance wasn’t sure whether Keith was thinking about Matt’s death or their falling-out when he switched to past-tense, but either way, there was only one word Lance could think of saying in response: “Right…”

There was nothing else he really could say. Not without knowing more about Keith’s _long story_.

So he just started walking.

But, hey, awkwardness aside, Lance had successfully had a conversation with Keith that didn’t turn into an argument. They had actually spoken to each other as equals for a while. They’d been _civil_.

_You know what? I’m proud of myself. That’s worth a pat on the back. Way to go, me. Thank you, me._

In the middle of Lance’s silent self-congratulations, the door ahead began to creak open, shedding a blinding light on everything in the tunnel.

Lance winced and raised an arm to his eyes. It had very quickly gone from too _dark_ to see to too _bright_ to see.

Lance fully expected Keith’s teasing to come back full force, but it didn’t.

He didn’t say a word.

Lance cautiously lowered his arm.

He found Keith looking into the light, unblinking, unbothered. Or, at least, unbothered by the brightness. There was a certain... _contemplation_ in his eyes. Like he was trying to figure out a puzzle, or like there was a word on the tip of his tongue, just out of reach.

 _Or,_ thought Lance, _he’s just squinting at the light like any sane person would and I’m reading way too much into the expression of someone I barely know. There’s always that._

Once all four of their feet were on the grass on the far end of the tunnel, Keith dropped Lance’s hand like he’d been holding a hot coal.

“So, where to now?” asked Lance.

“Group on,” said Keith. Two little blue faces appeared over his shoulder in a square-shaped icon with rounded corners.

“We’re forming a party?” Lance cocked an eyebrow. “Why?”

“So we don’t have to walk the whole way to my house,” said Keith.

He still wasn’t looking at Lance.

Maybe their conversation wasn’t as successful as Lance thought it was.

Or maybe Keith was just a jerk.

It was probably that one.

All the same…

“Group on,” sighed Lance. A blue line automatically connected the two icons, and a prompt popped up in front of Lance’s face.

╔═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｗｏｕｌｄ ｙｏｕ ｌｉｋｅ ｔｏ ａｄｄ ｔｈｉｓ ｕｓｅｒ ｔｏ ｙｏｕｒ ｇｒｏｕｐ？

▶ＹＥＳ◀

ＮＯ

╚═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

Lance sighed and casually selected the “yes” option.

“So...how does this help us?” he asked, shrugging expectantly.

Keith reached into his bag and pulled out another bottle.

“You’re pretty dependent on potions, aren’t you?” asked Lance, watching the pink fluid slosh around in the glass.

“I’m a Warrior,” said Keith as if that explained absolutely everything.

He took Lance’s hand again, this time to drop the potion into it.

“I’m going to drink a Yellow Potion,” said Keith. “Count to five, then drink this Pink Potion.”

“What does it do?” asked Lance. “I mean, I know it’ll take me to your house, but, like, what does it do _exactly_?”

“It takes you to the person with the highest level in the group,” said Keith, letting go of Lance’s hand and reaching into his bag again.

“What if there’s more than one—”

“You can ask Shiro,” said Keith, uncorking the yellow potion he’d just pulled out of his bag.

And just like that, Keith was gone.

Lance sighed and uncapped the Pink Potion.

“Five… Four…”

 

* * *

 

“Shh…”

“What? What is it?”

Shay put a clawed finger to her lips. She tilted her head back, a thoughtful, worried look in her golden eyes.

Those golden eyes turned on Hunk, and she silently pointed to his lantern.

“Put that out,” she whispered. “And put it in your bag.”

“Uh, okay, but _why_?” hissed Hunk, suddenly very nervous.

“Do you not hear it?” whispered Shay. “Listen.”

Hunk closed his eyes. He couldn’t hear a damn thing.

Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground and put a hand to the damp stone beneath his feet.

He was going to drain some MP, but it was negligible. He wouldn’t miss one or two points.

At first, all he felt were vibrations. Then he heard it.

Singing.

The quiet sort of singing people did when they were by themselves. Half-humming, full of strange, off-beat pauses.

“That,” said Shay softly, “is a folk song from Daibazaal. Whoever is singing, they must be Galra.”

Hunk lowered the cap on his lantern until it completely covered the glow of crystal. The only light in the cave was the dim glint from Shay’s eyes.

Shay, who could see in the dark much easier than Hunk could, took his lantern off of his walking stick and helped him maneuver it to his bag.

Her hand, gentle despite its roughness, wrapped around Hunk’s, and Shay helped him back to his feet.

“Be silent,” she whispered, and she began to pull Hunk in the direction of the singing.

They crept close to the floor, shoulders tense, Shay’s cool hand in Hunk’s, guiding his every shuffled step. The more they walked, the louder the singing became.

And the more potent the smell.

Hunk nearly hit himself in the face with his walking stick trying to cover his nose.

Was that how the Galra smelled? Or was that just this particular Galra?

Hunk winced as he crept closer and closer to the smell, so close that even covering his nose did nothing. The sound of a crackling fire met Hunk’s ear, accompanying the singing, and soon, he saw firelight peeking around a curve in the tunnel.

Shay stopped and they exchanged worried glances.

“This doesn’t feel right,” whispered Hunk, as low as his voice could go.

“I know,” whispered Shay. “This is too easy.”

“That’s not what I mean,” said Hunk hurriedly. “There’s something else—”

“Are the two of you gonna hide behind that wall all day?” asked a booming voice from around the curve, “or are you gonna come out and show me what you’re made of?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headache? Ear infection? Better write a whole fucking lot. That'll make me feel better, right? Right. Totally.  
> I'm gonna nap until my head falls off. That'll fix both problems.


	17. Revive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so... I try my hardest to be as tactful as possible when writing topics such as this, but that doesn't change the fact that this chapter still deals with dark topics, topics that are potentially damaging to my readers. I don't want anyone to get hurt, so this is your official TRIGGER WARNING. If you're not able or prepared to handle mentions of death, blood, or suicide, press ctrl-F and skip ahead to "Keith ran his hand along a shelf of what could have been a pantry". You'll be okay from that point on.
> 
> Safe reading!

Going to the grocery store.

It was probably one of the most mundane, ordinary tasks Matt had to deal with in his day-to-day life. There was nothing exciting about picking up bread and eggs and Kool-Aid packets. And to be completely fair, it wasn’t the grocery store trip itself that had been “exciting”.

It was coming home.

“Put the ice cream in the freezer first this time,” said Matt. “You know, before you get distracted and leave it on the counter to melt over everything we own again.”

“Hey,” protested Pidge, yanking the freezer open. “Don’t say that like you didn’t get just as excited as I did about our new hard drives coming in.”

“Okay,” said Matt. “Fine. Point taken. But that was still on you just as much as it was on me.” He reached up to open a cabinet over the microwave and his hand froze on the cabinet’s handle.

He looked at Pidge over his shoulder. “You think Dad’s asleep?”

Pidge shrugged and pushed the tub of ice cream into the freezer. “He shouldn’t be. Get his lazy butt up and have him help us. He’s the one always saying ‘many hands make light work’ and stuff like that.”

Matt shrugged and hauled a loaf of bread into the cabinet. “I think he’s sick or something. He’s been sleeping a lot lately. We should probably just leave him be.”

“Mom didn’t leave me be when I was coughing up a lung last week,” grumbled Pidge. “Go get him. We can all be one big, whiny family. Besides, if he _is_ sick, he should probably take something for it.”

Matt sighed and moved away from the cabinet, leaving it open for the sake of convenience. “All right, point made. I’ll go get him.”

No windows reached the hallway. With the lights off, and with the closest light source being the overcast light from the living room windows, the hallway was almost eerily dark. It was only when Matt hit the lights between the storage closet and his parents’ room that he realized his parents’ door was open.

“Dad?” Matt peered inside his parents’ room, frowning. His parents’ bed was made, unoccupied. But his dad should have been home. Their mom had the only other vehicle their family owned. Unless Sam went on a walk or something. But he never walked anywhere. He would have left a note. There was nothing on the kitchen counter.

“Hey, Pidge?” Matt turned toward the end of the hallway, where he’d come from. “There isn’t a note on the door or anything, is there?”

“Nope!” called Pidge succinctly from the kitchen.

Matt hummed thoughtfully and turned back to his parents’ room. Weird. Their bathroom door was closed, but if his dad was in there, he would have heard Matt call for him, wouldn’t he?

Just to be sure, Matt crossed the forbidden threshold between the hallway and his parents’ room. Maybe Sam was sicker than Matt thought. He might have passed out in the bathroom. He needed to make sure.

Matt knocked on the door to his parents’ bathroom. “Dad?” He tried the doorknob.

It turned.

But the door wouldn’t open. The door wasn’t _stuck_ ; it felt like there was a barricade on the other side.

Matt furrowed his brow and pushed against the door.

It budged, just barely. There was definitely something on the other side.

Matt pushed harder, and he managed to open the door just far enough to stick his hand in and flick the light switch.

And he immediately wished he hadn’t.

He saw the blood immediately. Pooled on the floor, smeared and streaked from the bottom of the door and the weight that had been keeping the door closed.

The weight that slumped lifelessly to the side when Matt pushed the door just a little too hard. Away from the door itself, right into plain view.

Every muscle in Matt’s body petrified. His bones locked in place. His brain ceased function. Every output value came back null.

He was looking at the impossible. There was no such thing.

Illegal operation. Fatal error. Everything was wrong.

“Hey, Matt?”

The sound of Pidge’s voice grabbed onto Matt’s consciousness and yanked him forcefully out of his stupor.

 _Don’t let them see,_ cried everything in Matt’s system. _Don’t let them see what you saw. You can’t let them see. They’re just a kid. Don’t let them see._

Matt closed the bathroom door and took a slow, shaking breath.

_Don’t let them see._

He backed away from the bathroom. He backed up so far that his legs hit the side of his parents’ bed.

And then he froze.

He needed to get out.

He needed to take Pidge and get out.

But he couldn’t move.

His mind was at odds with itself. It felt as though it were ripping itself apart into fibers and frayed strings and jagged edges.

_Don’t let them see._

_Check the door again. Open it. Make sure. Make absolutely sure._

_Never open that door. Never touch it again._

_That was wrong. A hallucination or a misunderstanding. Not real. That couldn’t be real._

_Get Pidge out of the house. Get Pidge out of the house._

“Matt—”

Pidge was at the bedroom door.

Too close. Far too close.

Matt, with shaky but determined footfalls, managed to tear himself away from the bed. Somehow, he was able to make his way to the bedroom door, where Pidge stood, and grabbed them harshly, too harshly, by the wrist.

He dragged them through the hall, through the kitchen, through the front door, ignoring every squirm, every protest.

“What the hell, Matt?!”

Pidge didn’t know what was happening. Pidge didn’t have a clue. And Matt had to keep it that way. If he told them, if they knew, then Matt was sure they’d do whatever it took to see it for themselves, to confirm with their own eyes. They were too inquisitive for their own good, too stubborn to admit that there were some things that shouldn’t be seen.

Matt kept walking when he reached their front yard, Pidge in unwilling tow. He dragged them past the neighbors doing their yard work, past the children throwing leaves onto trampolines to see how big of a mess they could make while they were jumping, all the way to the end of their street, where the asphalt turned into the main road that led to the highway.

“Matt, you’re scaring the shit out of me! What the hell _is_ this?!”

Matt tightened his grip on his sibling’s arm as he reached into his pocket for his cell phone.

“Who are you calling?! Matt, this isn’t funny!”

Three numbers. He just had to dial three numbers. But his hand was shaking.

9

9-4

9

9-1

9-1-2

9-1

9-1-1

It seemed like forever before someone answered.

But someone did.

And they asked one question.

“911 emergency—What are you reporting?”

“I—”

One, solitary question.

One question was all it took for Matt to realize that he had to say it out loud, that he had to put what he saw into words, that there was no hiding it from Pidge, that he’d—

He’d have to eventually tell his _mother_ what happened.

Seeing it didn’t make what happened his fault.

And Matt knew that. In the most logical, clinical part of his brain, he knew that.

But that didn’t change the way he felt.

Tears he hadn’t noticed forming rolled down his cheeks, biting his face in autumn’s cold wind.

Pidge stopped squirming.

“Sir?” the voice on the other end questioned. A voice that Matt could only guess belonged to a woman. A black woman, from the sound of it. Middle-aged. She probably had a family of her own, but Matt couldn’t possibly know for sure. He’d just realized that he was seconds away from describing the most horrifying moment of his entire life to a complete stranger.

“I— Sorry, I—”

But he had to. It was the only thing he could do.

“I’m… I… There was a...a suicide.”

 

* * *

 

Keith ran his hand along a shelf of what could have been a pantry if Keith ever bothered cooking for himself. Instead, it was closer to a cabinet. A storage room full of materials to be used for weapon crafting and item creation. That, and revival rituals, which Keith had to admit, he performed often.

Just as Keith plucked a chunk of Scaultrite off his shelf, the floor creaked behind him, the tell-tale sign of someone popping into his stores.

“Whoa,” breathed Lance. Keith was glad he was facing away; if Lance saw the way the corner of his mouth quirked into a smile—no matter how small the smile was or how short it stayed around—Keith never would have heard the end of it. “This is a whole lot of... _stuff_. What do you use all this for?”

“Everything,” said Keith, holding the Scaultrite out behind him without turning around. “Here, make yourself useful.”

“‘ _Make yourself useful,_ ’” mocked Lance, earning a roll of the eyes he would never see. He still took the Scaultrite, though, however much he complained. “What is this?”

“It’s for the ritual,” said Keith, moving along his shelf to the next ingredient.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” said Lance. The floor creaked as he followed Keith farther into the storage cabinet.

“It’s called Scaultrite,” explained Keith, digging through a few bottles, careful not to separate any bottle of Bytor Water from its Fire Oil partner for fear of the ice crystals spreading across the shelves. “It’s a rare drop from a monster in Balmera.”

“Balmera?” Lance’s interest was audibly piqued. “You’ve been to Balmera?”

“I’ve been everywhere,” said Keith. And for the most part, it was true. “Why?”

“Is it hard to get there from here?”

“If you’re under level fifty?” Keith chose an ordinary White Potion from his collection of bottles. He was getting low on those. He’d have to buy more from the potion seller in Arus. “Pretty impossible.”

“Like there’s a level minimum or like I’m gonna get my butt kicked because I’m too weak?”

“‘Getting your butt kicked’ is an understatement,” said Keith, holding out the White Potion for Lance to take.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” grumbled Lance, yanking the potion out of Keith’s hand with much more force than was necessary.

“You tried to take on one of Zarkon’s best generals by yourself,” said Keith. “Unprepared, at level—” He opened his group menu. “— _twenty-four_.”

“At least I _tried_ ,” grumbled Lance. “Which is more than I can say for you, Mr. Level-67-and-still-ran.”

“I was dressed for warmth,” said Keith, grabbing an Unmarked Talisman off the shelf. “Not combat. I didn’t stand a chance.”

“Never know unless you try.”

Keith pressed his eyes shut. “I did try,” he admitted. “A long time ago. It was one of my first deaths.”

“So you’re just as bad as me,” said Lance, sounding wholly unimpressed.

“I was inexperienced,” said Keith. “Just like you are. So no, I don’t have confidence in you—”

“Well, you can just—”

“As a fighter.”

Keith turned away from the shelf and looked at Lance for the first time since they both warped to his house. He was a mess. No more than he had been inside Arus’ walls, of course, but it stood out so much more compared to how clean everything in Keith’s cabinet was. Singed clothes, soot-stained face, hair sticking in every direction… Keith doubted he looked much better, but at least his eyes weren’t bulging with shock and confusion like Lance’s were.

“You’re a good person,” said Keith, keeping his expression neutral. “Not just anyone would have gone into a burning building to help a couple of complete strangers.”

Lance’s gaze flicked away, then back to Keith’s eyes. Away again, then back. He seemed to be thinking. “I mean…not just anyone would have saved the same guy over and over again, either, so… Besides, you’re not exactly a stranger anymore, right? We’ve met three times now. That’s at least acquaintance status.”

Keith crossed his arms. He couldn’t help the smirk on his lips. “Really? So that’s what it takes? Meeting three times?”

Lance rolled his eyes and blew a disgruntled huff upwards, making his bangs rise into the air. “You know what I mean. We know each other’s names. I know you’re a jackass, and you know I’m incredibly handsome and charming.”

Keith scoffed. “Have you looked in a mirror lately? You look like a singed Ken doll.”

“I’m gonna choose to take that as a compliment,” said Lance, tilting his head back, a smug smile on his lips. “Ken’s a handsome guy. And I’m sure he could pull off a few soot stains with just as much class as I do.”

“Oh, sure,” said Keith, nudging Lance’s arm with his own as he walked past. “The ‘haven’t combed my hair in three months’ look is _really_ classy.”

A gentle clink caught Keith’s ear and he stole a glance over his shoulder from the doorway.

Lance had transferred the Scaultrite to his opposite hand and had started running his fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to tame whatever was happening on his head.

Keith smiled to himself. He had to admit, there was something endearing about Lance. It wasn’t quite the charm he was aiming for, but the fact that he was aiming for that charm in the first place was quaint. Keith had almost forgotten what Earth felt like, but Lance seemed to embody Earth. He wasn’t worried about disappearing, about the people he cared about disappearing. All he cared about were tiny quarrels, whether or not his hair looked good… The little things Keith couldn’t afford to get upset about anymore. It was refreshing.

Well, when it wasn’t annoying.

“You coming?” called Keith, rounding the corner into the basement.

“Oh, are we going somewhere?” Lance called back, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I thought we were just standing around with ritual materials, waiting for something to happen on its own.”

And annoying seemed to be exactly what Lance aspired to be.

Keith was only halfway down the stairs before the newest complaint came in.

“The basement?” asked Lance, casting a shadow from the top of the stairs. “We’re going into the _basement_?”

“Yes, Lance,” sighed Keith, turning around. “The basement.”

“I’m following someone I barely know into a creepy basement,” said Lance, just a silhouette to Keith’s eyes. The silhouette crossed his arms. “Excuse me for having just a little hesitation about this.”

“It’s just a basement,” said Keith. “Nothing weird is going to crawl out of the shadows. This isn’t a horror movie.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” grumbled Lance.

“What happened to us being acquaintances?” asked Keith.

“Acquaintance isn’t close enough to follow someone into a basement.”

“It is if you want to get rid of your undead status.”

Lance groaned and unfolded his arms to run his free hand through his hair. “Don’t you have a...a _light_ or something?”

Keith sighed and reached over the banister to touch a bottle on one of the shelves that lined the stairway. It responded by blooming a dim, reddish-pink light, a light that passed from that bottle to the ones adjacent to it, and those did the same to the ones adjacent to them until every bottle that lined the stairway and brightening until Lance’s awestruck face was fully visible.

“...Okay.” He raised his hands in irritated surrender. “Fine. That’s really cool. But what I’m trying to figure out is why you didn’t do that in the first place.”

Keith shrugged and turned around. “I wanted to see you freak out.” Was that true? Absolutely not. Keith just thought that the light from the doorway was enough.

But was it fun to mess with Lance?

Yes.

Yes, it was.

“...You’re a jerk.”

Keith had to fight off his smile when his feet hit the floor of the basement and he turned to make his way to the center of the room, where he’d drawn his measurements on the ground He dropped the talisman next to the lump of coal, leaving space for the Scaultrite.

“Is that a _pentagram_?”

Keith bit his tongue trying not to laugh. “It’s a penta _gon_ ,” he said, turning toward Lance slowly. “But good guess.”

“It’s got five points and it’s in a circle,” protested Lance, who seemed less than willing to take the last step from the stairs to the floor. “And I’m guessing we’re using it in a _ritual_. It’s a _little_ pentagram-y. Remind me again why I’m putting up with all this weirdness?”

“Because if you drank the healing potion that’s in your hands right now, you’d take damage,” said Keith, matter-of-fact.

Lance sighed. “Right…” He eyed the pentagon, then at the floor beneath the last step, and he slowly, hesitantly lowered his foot onto the floor.

Nothing happened, of course, and when Lance managed to open the eyes he’d pressed shut and confirmed as much, he looked close to passing out from relief.

“You good?” asked Keith, smirking.

Lance fixed him with a glare.

Keith didn’t so much as flinch. “Bring the Scaultrite and the White Potion here.”

Lance did so warily, careful not to come in contact with any of the lines.

“It’s just a shape,” chided Keith. “It’s not even part of the ritual. The ritual is just five evenly spaced items. The shape is just there as a guideline for the spacing.”

“It’s still creepy,” insisted Lance, holding out the Potion and the Scaultrite for Keith to take.

“Kindergarten classes must terrify you,” said Keith, taking the items from Lance’s hands. “Stand in the middle.”

“Oh, boy,” said Lance, monotone and utterly lacking excitement. “Standing in the middle of an almost-pentagram was exactly what I wanted to do today, right up there with getting stabbed by a Galra and having a panic attack and a half.”

“And running into a burning building?” asked Keith, kneeling to set the White Potion on the floor, blatantly avoiding the elephant in the room.

“Yep, that, too,” said Lance, glaring at his own feet. “And holding _your hand_ for an extended period of time— You know, I’ve just had a _great day_. Did _everything_ I wanted to do.”

“Well,” Keith sighed and moved to place the Scaultrite, “for what it’s worth, I know the feeling.”

“The Fallen Star, right?” asked Lance, his voice softening. “Look, I really am sorry—”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Keith, avoiding Lance’s eyes as he climbed to his feet. “There was no good way to handle what happened. I could have left you, but I decided not to, and I don’t regret that.”

“You don’t?”

Keith lifted his head and met Lance’s gaze. His expression was hard to read. Keith couldn’t even tell if it was positive or negative.

“No,” said Keith, moving to the foot of the diagram, between the Unmelting Ice and the White Potion. “If you didn’t show up to help at the bakery, the baker and I would have both died in the fire, and I would have lost the Fallen Star anyway. It’s a Break On Death item.”

“Oh…” said Lance. Then, after a beat, “Heh, I guess it _was_ pretty dumb for me to try to go after that Galra after all, huh?”

“Because you wouldn’t get the Fallen Star?”

“Well, I was actually, uh, gonna give it to you.”

Keith raised his eyebrows.

“Oh.”

Suddenly, what Lance said when he tried to explain how he died earlier, _“Just because you’re a jerk doesn’t mean everyone has to be,”_ made a lot more sense.

“Yeah,” said Lance, apparently unaware of the revelation Keith had just had. “I just wanted to make things right, you know? I felt—” He groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Ugh, this is gonna sound so dumb. I thought we were starting to be friends or...something, I don’t know. And then I went and messed everything up.”

Keith dropped his gaze to the floor.

What was he supposed to say?

_“It’s okay, we were never going to be friends anyway”?_

_“You wouldn’t want to be friends if you actually knew anything about me”?_

_“It’s not you, it’s me”?_

Anything Keith said would only invite questions he couldn’t answer.

He took a step back from the diagram and cleared his throat.

“So you, uh… You ready to be able to use healing items again?”

Lance crossed his arms and shrugged. “I guess? Have you done this before?”

“For myself, tons of times,” said Keith. “For someone else? This is gonna be my first time.”

Lance sighed musically. “Guess there’s a first time for everything. Lay it on me, Keith. What’s the worst that can happen? I mean, if it erases my character or something, that’s on Shiro, right?”

“Guess so.” Keith lowered himself slowly to the floor and leaned forward. He touched the Unmelting Ice with his left hand and the White Potion with his right. A white ring formed right above the black circle on the floor, linking all of the items together.

“I’m going to ask you some questions,” said Keith. “You don’t need to answer them out loud. I just want you to think about the answers. Got it?”

“Is this a ritual or a self-help class?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Okay, so think of the smartest person you know—”

“My friend Pidge,” said Lance. “Hands down.”

Keith watched the Unmarked Talisman begin to glow green.

“I just said you don’t have to answer out loud,” said Keith.

“I felt like it,” said Lance, shrugging. “Pidge is awesome. I wanted to talk about Pidge. Just let me talk about my friends.”

Keith tried not to roll his eyes. “Right…” He sighed. “Now think about someone who’s emotionally wise.”

“Coran,” said Lance instantly.

The Unmelting Ice began to glow blue, but Keith paid it no mind, too distracted by Lance’s answer. “What, the innkeeper?”

“Yeah,” said Lance, surprisingly expressive for having closed eyes. “Have you _met_ him? He’s got one of those… I don’t know, just… If I had a problem, he’d know what to do. I know it.”

“You know he’s just an AI, right?”

“So? Artificial or not, he’s got some real intelligence. Besides, my buddy Hunk totally has a crush on this Balmeran NPC, even if he won’t admit it.” The White Potion began to glow yellow. “They’re too realistic for me _not_ to think of them as real people.”

Keith frowned. It took more willpower than he was proud to admit just to keep his hands from curling into fists and stopping the ritual. “...Think of someone who’s temperamental, who—”

Lance snorted.

The coal began to glow red.

“What, no verbal answer for that one?”

“Nah.”

Keith sighed. He had a feeling he knew who Lance thought of.

“Fine. Just think of someone you’d follow without hesitation, no matter what, and we’re done.”

Lance didn’t answer. Not even in his mind; the Scaultrite remained as dull and dark as ever.

“...Weird question, can I answer the same person for more than one of these?”

The Scaultrite began to glow a faint purple.

“Apparently,” said Keith, but before he could say anything else, the Scaultrite cracked audibly.

The Unmarked Talisman turned to dust.

The coal caught fire.

Frost began to spread outward from the Unmelting Ice, coating the floor.

And the White Potion changed color. What color it had changed to, Keith wasn’t sure. It was different for everyone, and the colored light they stood in made it hard to tell. But Keith had a feeling it was some shade of blue to match Lance’s water magic.

Keith grabbed the bottle and stood up. The white ring faded as he walked through it. The coal stopped burning and the ice stopped spreading its frost, but everything else in the circle had reached the end of its purpose.

“You can open your eyes now,” said Keith.

Lance did as he was bid, and his gaze immediately darted to the bottle in Keith’s hand. “Do I drink that, or is it a suppository?”

Keith groaned and shoved the bottle toward Lance. “Please don’t make me picture that ever again.”

“No promises.” Lance smirked, tipped the bottle toward Keith, and then drank its contents.

Keith checked his group status.

A tiny, cartoony pair of angel wings and an even smaller halo appeared next to Lance’s name for only a second before fading away.

“Looks like you’re set,” said Keith.

Lance lowered the bottle from his lips. The smirk was gone. “Oh. Cool.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then back again. He began to fidget with the empty bottle in his hand. “Guess there’s no reason for me to stick around, then, huh?”

Keith crossed his arms. “Guess not.”

Lance tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Cool.”

He stayed like that, silent, for quite a while, long enough for Keith to start to feel awkward. He felt like he was missing some sort of social cue, something he’d forgotten about after too much time spent by himself in Altea.

And then Lance sighed, lifted his head, and straightened his shoulders. “I, uh… Here.” He handed Keith the bottle he’d been toying with. “I better get going.”

Keith took the bottle.

It felt warm.

Was that a weird thing to notice?

Lance walked past Keith, headed toward the stairs.

Keith just kept frowning at the bottle.

There was something he was missing. He swore there was. But he didn’t have a clue what that might be.

But Lance was halfway up the stairs, and Keith could hear every step he took—

“Hey, Lance?”

The footsteps stopped. “Yeah?”

Keith lowered the bottle he’d been staring at and turned toward the stairs. “You...don’t know how to get back to the Gate, do you?”

Lance, from halfway up the stairs, sighed in relief. “I don’t have a clue.”

“Well, I guess…” Keith crossed his arms. The smallest of smiles tugged at his lips. “I guess I better go with you then, huh?”

Lance grinned.

 


	18. Status Effect

Shiro stood outside the Holts’ front door, shoulders tense. He took a deep breath and set his jaw.

He’d already tried the easy way, and that hadn’t worked. So, acting on a distress call from Pidge, Shiro agreed that it was time to do things the hard way.

He knocked on the door.

He only had to wait a few moments for Mrs. Holt to appear in the doorway.

“Shiro?”

“Good evening, Colleen,” said Shiro calmly. “I’m here to kidnap your son.”

Upon hearing those words, most mothers would be terrified, but in Colleen’s case, nothing short of relief flashed across her expression.

“Thank you, Shiro.” She stepped aside, pulling the door open wide. “I’ll hold this for you.”

Shiro nodded his thanks and made his way inside.

Pidge, from where they were curled up on the couch, peeked out from their blanket cocoon to meet Shiro’s eye. They exchanged determined expressions, but neither said a word, and that suited Shiro just fine.

He walked down the hallway, past Pidge’s and Colleen’s room, and stopped outside Matt’s door. He could already hear the furious click-click-clicking of keys on a keyboard, far more intense than anything Shiro had ever heard from Matt. Pidge was right to call him.

He pounded on the door. “Open up, Matt.”

The frantic typing stopped. Just for a second. Then it resumed.

“I’m working, Shiro.”

Matt’s voice was weak. Tired. Shiro wondered when he’d slept last. When he’d eaten last.

“Not anymore, you’re not,” said Shiro firmly. He tried the doorknob. Unlocked. He wondered whether Matt had been too tired to remember to lock it or whether some part of him had been hoping that someone would help him.

Shiro pushed the door open. The lights were off. A blanket had been thrown over the window to block out the sun. The only light in the room prior to Shiro opening the door and letting in the light from the hallway would have been the monitor Matt was hunched in front of.

“Go _away_ , Shiro,” warned Matt, his hands stilling on the keys again. “There’s no reason for you to be here.”

“My best friend needs me,” said Shiro. “I think that’s a good enough reason.”

Matt raised his shoulders, like he was trying to hide his head behind them. “What cartoon did you steal _that_ line from?” He resumed typing once more. “I’m fine.”

“That’s not what Pidge thinks,” said Shiro. “Pidge was the one who called me. They said they haven’t seen you leave your room since the funeral.”

“I’ve left my room plenty of times,” said Matt. “Just because Pidge hasn’t seen it doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened.”

“So you’ve been leaving in the middle of the night to get a glass of water and a sandwich?” Shiro sighed. “Matt, that’s not—”

“I’m _fine_ , Shiro,” said Matt, firmer than last time. Harsher. “Just leave me alone. I’ve got work to do.”

“You have ten seconds,” said Shiro. “Ten. You can save or type the end of a string or whatever you need to do. Then we’re leaving.”

“What are _you_ gonna do?” dared Matt, still typing. He didn’t need to turn around for Shiro to hear a skeptical smirk on his lips. It was familiar, but Shiro was used to it from Keith, not Matt. Never Matt.

“Ten…” Shiro crossed his arms. “Nine…”

Matt kept typing in silence.

“Eight…”

He didn’t even turn around. Shiro had never seen him so cold.

“Seven…”

Pidge was right to call him. This wasn’t normal. Even for someone going through mourning.

“Six…”

Matt just kept typing.

“Five…”

Shiro had never been ignored like this before. Not by Matt.

“Four…”

It was like he wasn’t there at all.

“Three…”

As if when Sam died, Matt died with him.

“Two…”

But his body kept moving. “Zombie” didn’t cover it. He was more like a machine. No nerves, no thought, just moving parts.

And Shiro was sure that was exactly what Matt was aiming for.

No wonder Pidge was scared.

Shiro was scared, too.

“One.”

In the split second that Shiro reached for Matt, he saw Matt’s left hand hit the hotkeys to save his work. And that was all he had time to do before Shiro grabbed him and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

It wasn’t the first time Shiro had picked Matt up, but it was the first time Shiro had picked Matt up _unwillingly_.

“Put me the _fuck down_ , Shiro!”

It was messy. Matt’s mouse was pushed off his desk in the struggle. His chair was knocked over. Matt kicked his own monitor. Not hard enough to damage it, but hard enough to push it, and Matt didn’t so much as flinch despite how protective he had always been of his hardware.

The only time Matt reacted at all was when he elbowed Shiro in the cheek. He tensed up, and for just a second, Shiro swore he was going to apologize. Matt went right back to thrashing, but that brief pause, in addition to the sudden change in _how_ Matt was thrashing—less conviction, more caution—told Shiro that Matt hadn’t meant to hurt him at all. That he regretted it.

And that meant that somewhere, underneath all the anger and despair, Matt was still in there. He just needed help.

Probably more help than Shiro could give.

But Shiro could at least set him on the right path.

Matt was still struggling when Shiro carried him past his mother and his sibling, still struggling in the front yard, and he was struggling when Shiro tossed him into the passenger side seat of his car.

And when Matt tried the door, Shiro was glad he’d had the foresight to turn on the child locks before he’d left his car.

He climbed into the driver’s side before Matt could make it over the threshold of the car and set off down the street.

Matt wasn’t even looking at him. He was pointedly looking out the window. Shiro caught a glimpse of tears in the side mirror.

“We can call Keith or Allura if you don’t want to be alone with me—”

“No,” snapped Matt. “I don’t want to see _anyone_ right now.”

“That’s just the problem, Matt,” said Shiro, trying to sound as kind as he could possibly be. “You shouldn’t be cutting yourself off from everyone like this.”

Matt, in response, fell silent, just to prove Shiro’s point.

What was left of the drive to Shiro’s apartment was made without a word. Not a word was spoken as Shiro led Matt up the metal stairs. He was more cooperative than he had been when Shiro was taking him away from his own house, but something about the drive had turned his cold anger into cold sadness.

Shiro reached for Matt’s shoulder.

Matt didn’t react.

Shiro wasn’t sure whether that was permission to wrap a comforting arm around his shoulders or whether that was just because Matt didn’t have the energy to fight him off.

And Shiro really didn’t like not knowing.

The sound of the key pushing through the tumbler sounded like the rumble of a small earthquake compared to Matt’s silence.

“I’m going to order takeout,” said Shiro. “Does Chinese sound good?”

Matt didn’t respond. Not even nonverbally. He didn’t so much as shrug.

“Matt?” prompted Shiro, keeping his voice gentle.

“So what I think matters now, huh?” asked Matt, just as bitter as before, but with none of the bite. “Just not when it comes down to how I choose to mourn my father.”

“I only got involved when I learned that you were dealing with it in an unhealthy way,” said Shiro. “I was willing to give you space, but—”

“Space?” Matt scoffed. “Is that what you call it?”

Shiro set his jaw. The passive aggression was worse than the fighting. “What are you talking about?”

Matt sighed. He just sounded tired. Shiro found himself wondering yet again when he’d slept last. “Chinese. Whatever.”

“Okay,” said Shiro, brow knitting. “Chinese.” He reached into his pocket for his cell phone. “If you want to pick a movie for us to watch or something…”

Shiro trailed off when Matt turned away and wandered toward the living room as if Shiro wasn’t there at all.

There was no longer any doubt in Shiro’s mind that Matt needed more help than he could give.

And his worry only doubled when, at the end of his takeout order, Shiro heard the sliding door to his balcony open.

Panic rushed through Shiro immediately. He berated himself for letting Matt wander off, for assuming that he’d be okay as long as there wasn’t a closed door between them.

But then he rushed around the side of his refrigerator and he saw Matt slowly lowering himself to the balcony floor, safe and sound, far away from the railing. Shiro took a breath, and it felt like breaking through the water’s surface when he’d been drowning. Matt was okay. Or, he was going to be. Right?

...Right?

Shiro took another breath, and another, keeping an eye on Matt from the kitchen. He was lying down on the balcony, just staring at the sky. It reminded Shiro of easier times, of staying up late to work on astronomy homework together when they thought the worst thing that could happen to them was getting a bad grade in Professor Kolivan’s class.

How had they crossed the line from that point to...this? Where Shiro had to deal with the loss of a father figure and the fear of losing his best friend in the same breath?

Hesitantly, Shiro looked away from Matt for just a moment, just long enough to grab a couple of cans of soda from the refrigerator, and then he made his way to the balcony.

It was cold. Shiro had no idea how Matt managed to put up with the temperature in bare feet, but maybe that was the point. Maybe he wanted to be cold.

“Hey,” said Shiro softly.

Matt raised his hand in an unenthusiastic wave. Not his arm. Just his hand. But it was something. That was an improvement from a few minutes prior. Shiro could work with that.

“I brought you a drink.”

Matt spared Shiro a glance, then raised his arm.

Shiro pressed the can into Matt’s hand.

Matt set his can on the balcony, keeping it in his hand.

He didn’t open it.

Shiro drummed his fingers on his own can, leaving spots in the condensation.

“Do you...want to talk?”

Silence. Matt’s eyes didn’t even move.

Shiro swallowed. “Do you mind if I stay out here with you?”

Matt shrugged one shoulder.

“Okay.” Shiro sat down on the balcony, then slowly leaned back until he was lying next to Matt, shoulder-to-shoulder, not quite touching, but far from distant.

And that was how they stayed. For several minutes.

And then Shiro dared to speak.

“Did I tell you I talked to my uncle? Uh, Keith’s dad?”

Matt didn’t respond.

“Apparently,” continued Shiro, “he found out about me coming out to my parents, and what my parents did, and he actually drove to my old house and chewed them out to their face. Keith had no idea he was doing it until he got home afterward.”

Again, Matt said nothing.

Shiro took a deep breath. “Look, Matt, I know you’re going through a lot, but you’re not alone. We _all_ lost Sam. And we all miss him. Pidge and Colleen know what you’re going through—”

“No, they don’t.”

Shiro turned his head.

Matt was crying again.

“ _Nobody_ knows what I’m going through,” he whispered, weak and broken. “Nobody else saw what was in that bathroom except the police. No one found my dad like that except for me. No one else saw how much blood there was. No one else opened a door to what they _thought_ was a bathroom and found _hell_ instead. No one else pushed the door a little too far and saw his _corpse fall—_ ”

Matt jerked upright. His cola can toppled over, still closed. He covered his mouth with his hands, and his shoulders began to tremble.

Shiro sat up slowly. “Matt?”

This time, when Matt didn’t answer, Shiro couldn’t blame him. His eyes were wide, wild.

“Matt,” Shiro tried again, “is it okay if I touch you?”

Matt sobbed. Tears rolled over his fingers and gathered in the gaps in-between.

Shiro, risking a lot on the assumption that anything other than silence was a ‘yes,’ reached out and warily touched Matt’s upper arm with the back of his fingers. When Matt didn’t flinch or pull away or visibly worsen, Shiro carefully wrapped his arm around Matt’s shoulders.

And Matt crumbled into him like a paper bird under a waterfall.

 

* * *

 

“Here.”

“Whoa!”

Lance had to double over to catch the wet washcloth Keith had tossed him before it touched the floor.

“Thanks for the warning,” he grumbled, wagging the cloth in Keith’s direction.

“Would you rather stay dirty?” asked Keith, who was running a wet cloth of his own over his face.

“No,” said Lance. “That wasn’t what I was talking about. I was talking about you giving me no warning that you were throwing a wet rag at me.”

Keith shrugged. “Get better reflexes.” He buried his entire face in his cloth.

Lance furrowed his brow. “Did… Did you just ‘git gud’ me?”

“Just wash your face,” said Keith, lowering his cloth and sending Lance a scowl that _definitely_ didn’t look pretty under his damp bangs, no matter who you asked.

Lance grumbled and rubbed his face. “I don’t suppose there’s some kind of Altean face mask I can use to keep my face from drying out.”

“Just water,” said Keith.

“Okay, cool,” said Lance. “I’m going to assume that means that my face _can’t_ get dried out.” He lowered the cloth with a sigh. “Got a mirror? Or, like, _ye olde looking glass_?”

“Your hair looks fine,” said Keith, who had disappeared behind the door of his wardrobe. Lance heard hangers sliding across a rack from inside.

“I’d rather be the judge of that,” grumbled Lance.

Keith appeared behind the door, scowling. “You’re so fussy.” He reached for his belt and pulled a knife out of a short, fat sheath that seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Here—”

Lance flinched. The last time he heard that word, something had been thrown at him, and there was a _knife_ in Keith’s hand.

But the knife was offered gently, held by the blade, the handle extended toward Lance.

“It’s the closest thing to a mirror I have,” explained Keith.

Lance sighed and took the knife slowly, careful not to cut Keith’s hand. “That explains the mullet.”

“What mullet?”

“ _Your_ mullet,” said Lance, pointing toward Keith with the end of the blade.

“I don’t have a mullet,” said Keith, disappearing behind the wardrobe door again.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” said Lance, tilting the knife and trying to get the perfect angle that didn’t distort his face like a funhouse mirror.

Okay, so his hair _did_ look fine. At least Keith had been telling the truth about that.

Lance walked around the door of Keith’s wardrobe and peeked over his shoulder, careful to keep the knife away from Keith’s back in case he was jumpy. “How many sets of armor do you need?”

“They all have strengths,” explained Keith without turning around. “Defense, Stealth, Speed, one increases my HP… Some of them are purely aesthetic. Gifts from the Arusians. But at least I don’t wear clothes intended for a different class.”

“My thief clothes have a strength, too,” insisted Lance. “And that’s being stylish. Or…” He looked down at himself and winced at the numerous yellow and black singe marks. “I mean, they _used_ to be.”

“You can have them fixed by a tailor,” said Keith. “Or you can replace them. They’re base level clothes. It’ll probably set you back about 8 gold. Until then…” He pulled a set of armor out of his wardrobe and held it up, comparing it to Lance. “You can borrow this. If you give my knife back. And I don’t want you to complain about style. It’s either this or your burned thief clothes. Your choice.”

Lance, who wasn’t expecting Keith to offer _him_ the clothes he’d been shuffling through, handed Keith’s knife back and took the proffered outfit without a word.

He stepped back from Keith’s wardrobe, closely inspecting the outfit he’d been handed. It actually wasn’t bad. Not Lance’s color—he definitely preferred blue to red—but the style wasn’t too bad. It seemed fairly form-fitting. The chainmail underneath was thin and subtle. It seemed to be either Stealth- or Speed-oriented. Keith had clearly chosen the outfit with Lance’s preferences in mind. That was actually surprisingly thoughtful.

Lance raised his gaze from the outfit to Keith.

Just in time to see him slide the robe he’d been wearing off his shoulders.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Lance hid his face, which was growing increasingly warm, behind the borrowed armor. “Dude! What the hell?!”

“I’m changing,” said Keith gruffly. “It’s my room. I’m pretty sure that’s allowed.”

“We really need to teach you about _warnings_ ,” said Lance, backing away, still using Keith’s armor as a shield for his eyes. “Holy _crow_. Why are you like this?”

“I was just wondering the same thing about you,” said Keith. “If underwear freaks you out so much, you can go into the hallway.”

“Yeah,” said Lance irritably, still walking backward. “I’ll do that. Just as soon as I figure out how to navigate now that I’m _blind_.”

Keith sighed. “Yeah. Real mature. I somehow doubt I’m that ugly, Lance.”

Lance groaned and pressed his the armor into his face. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “ _That’s_ the problem.”

Somehow, Lance managed to make his way to the door without uncovering his face, and he was able to slip outside without looking at any more of Keith than he had to.

He closed Keith’s bedroom door, made sure it was secure, and then slowly slid down to the floor.

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. He should have figured Keith would pull something like that. Nothing wrong with getting naked around other guys, right?

“Straight boys,” he grumbled. “ _Straight boys_.”

 

* * *

 

“Straight boys.” Keith sighed and tossed his singed clothes into his inventory. He’d never understand why they were so phobic of the male body. Like being around someone who was half-dressed was going to infect them somehow.

He changed into his Defense-oriented armor—his favorite just because it gave him an option to be less cautious in battle—and he shouldered his bag before he made his way to his bedroom door.

He felt ridiculous knocking on his own bedroom door—especially from the inside—but now that Keith knew how skittish Lance was, he could assume that walking in on Lance changing would be just as bad as changing clothes when he was in the same room, if not worse.

“You done out there?” asked Keith.

“I… Yeah?” answered Lance uncertainly. “I mean, I’m _dressed_.”

“So what’s the problem?” asked Keith.

Lance sighed. “Just get out here.”

Keith reached for the doorknob and slowly, warily opened the door to his bedroom, peeking around it as if he expected Lance to be waiting on the other side with a shotgun.

But no. There was no shotgun.

Just Lance in his clothes, tugging at the end of his tunic as if it wasn’t long enough for his taste. Keith wasn’t sure what he was complaining about; the black leggings made the outfit more than modest enough. Between them and the long, black, form-fitting sleeves that reached out from under the sleeves of the tunic, there was almost no skin shown at all. Just Lance’s face and his fingers.

“This looks better on you, doesn’t it?” asked Lance, a nervous grimace on his face.

Keith raised his eyebrows. Was that what he was worried about?

“You look perfectly fine,” said Keith.

Lance cocked an eyebrow.

“I mean…” Keith sighed. “It looks good with your...skin tone.”

Lance blinked slowly. “My...skin tone.”

Keith pursed his lips, suddenly self-conscious. He was never that great with fashion or aesthetic. But he thought Lance looked nice. That much was true. “Yeah, you look good in...red. And I always liked those boots, and they look good on—” He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply through his nose. “Just… You look good. And...anyway, it’s temporary. Just until you get back to the inn.”

“...Uh-huh.” Lance sounded less than impressed. Keith didn’t blame him. “So… Lead the way, I guess?”

 

* * *

 

Lance had to admit, it was pretty, if nothing else. Evergreen trees stretched as far as the eye could see, which would have been a lot farther if not for the thick fog.

“Where...are we, exactly?” asked Lance, following Keith’s back deeper and deeper into the fog.

“On a mountainside near the true border of Arus,” said Keith. Twigs crunched audibly under his boots as he stepped cautiously down from a rocky shelf.

“The true border,” said Lance uncertainly. “As opposed to...the wall?”

“Right.”

Lance jumped down from the same stone ledge Keith had just descended from, treating it with much less respect. “So where are we in relation to the inn?”

“Pretty far west,” said Keith. “The inn is right between the south wall and the castle.”

“And we’re, what, walking the whole way back?”

“Not quite.”

“Then how are we getting back?”

Keith suddenly stopped in place.

He raised a hand, a silent signal for Lance to either stop walking as well or to be quiet. Unsure of which, Lance did both.

Keith pointed ahead of them.

Lance had to squint in order to see through the fog, but with a discerning eye, he was able to see what Keith was gesturing toward.

Or, well, he could see the creatures. _What_ they were was a little harder to tell. And that wasn’t just because of the fog.

If Lance had to guess what he was looking at, he would guess that it was an entire herd of… Well. If a goat mated with a gazelle, and then a cow mated with a horse, and the offspring of those two matches mated, the result would probably look about like what Lance was gawking at.

“What are those?” asked Lance, whispering under his breath.

“Globinheffers,” said Keith, which probably didn’t help as much as Keith thought it did.

“Okay…” said Lance slowly, raising an eyebrow.

“They’re mounts,” elaborated Keith. “They usually gather by this lake.”

“ _Lake_?” hissed Lance.

“There’s a lake,” assured Keith. “The water isn’t cold, though.”

 _That_ probably didn’t help as much as Keith thought it did, either.

“Is this how you usually get back to town?” asked Lance in a low voice. “Globin...whatevers?”

“No,” said Keith softly. “I have a mount of my own. She’d be able to carry both of us, but…” He turned back toward Lance and sent him a smirk. “I don’t think she’d like you much.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “Uh, _rude_?”

“Just being honest,” said Keith. He turned his attention back to the herd of Globinheffers. He seemed to be looking for something specific, but Lance had no idea exactly what it was he was looking for.

Lance warily crept closer, not necessarily to the mounts, but to Keith, in a feeble attempt to gauge his expression. It...honestly didn’t help Lance figure anything out at all. Aside from that Keith’s eyes were really intense and—

_Nope, not going there. Not with Keith._

“Lance.”

Lance flinched and tried to play it off by crossing his arms. “Yep?”

Keith looked at him through the corner of his eye. “Watch me, and then do what I do.”

Lance almost rolled his eyes.

Then he remembered the lake.

He nodded.

Keith mirrored his nod, then began to approach the herd.

His armor wasn’t exactly quiet. It was big and bulky and it accompanied every step Keith took with a chorus of clinks and claps. But as Lance followed Keith deeper into the fog, he realized that the Globinheffers weren’t reacting at all. They just kept grazing. They didn’t so much as flick their ears.

Lance furrowed his brow and turned his attention from the Globinheffers to Keith, giving his full attention, searching for something that made him apparently approachable. But he wasn’t doing anything in particular. He was just weaving through the herd like he owned the place. Was that what Lance was supposed to do? Just strut through, throwing caution to the wind? Or was there something subtle in what Keith was doing that Lance wasn’t picking up on?

Keith walked up to one of the Globinheffers and patted its neck just once before climbing onto its back. It lifted its head from the grass it was eating, and that was it. It seemed completely fine with having Keith on its back.

Keith reached behind the creature’s neck, grabbed it by its mane, and guided it away from the herd, back toward Lance. Despite how bizarre and alien the creature he was riding was, Keith somehow looked surprisingly majestic on its back. Lance blamed it on the fog. Or his armor. Probably a combination of the two. Lance would have loved to see Keith in a hoodie and a pair of jeans on that Globinheffer.

...Lance would have loved to see Keith in a hoodie and a pair of jeans in general. It was almost impossible to imagine.

“So,” said Keith, turning the creature he was riding in front of Lance and beginning to circle him. “Think you’ve got that?”

Lance narrowed his eyes. That smug piece of garbage. Could he look any more self-satisfied?

“Oh, you mean the total lack of strategy altogether?” he whispered. “Yeah, I got that.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “You weren’t paying attention, were you?”

“I was paying attention just fine,” said Lance. “You did nothing in particular. You just walked up to them.”

Keith sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “There’s more to it—”

“Oh, _pfft_.” Lance shoved past Keith’s Globinheffer by pushing its reindeer-like nose. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

“You’ve never caught a Globinheffer in your life,” said Keith, raising an eyebrow. “I doubt you’ve even ridden a _horse_.”

Lance shrugged and spun around so that he was walking backward in the direction of the herd. “If I can charm a girl, I can charm a—” He raised his eyebrows and looked through the corner of his eye at one of the creatures he was supposed to be mounting. “...an equine...goat...deer.”

Keith looked down his nose at Lance. “ _That_ inspires confidence.”

Lance smirked and turned his back on Keith. “Whatever. I’ve got this.”

If Keith had been choosing from the herd based on a specific feature earlier, Lance had no idea what that feature might have been, so he didn’t bother guessing. Instead, Lance simply went for the closest of the bunch.

He walked right up to it, clapped a hand on its shoulder just like Keith had done, and swung a leg over its back.

“There,” said Lance proudly. “Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy.”

His confidence lasted all of three seconds.

The Globinheffer’s ears—one of its more cow-like features—both pointed backward, and if there was anything Lance knew about animals in general, it was that ears pointed back were never a good sign.

And he was right.

The Globinheffer was able to buck him off with one sharp kick.

Lance hit the hard, dry ground with what felt like every inch of his back all at once. He groaned. A solid eighth of his HP vanished from his HP bar thanks to his lowered defense, a sour side-effect of borrowing Keith’s warrior clothes. He ran a hand over his face.

Keith snorted.

And just like that, Lance was filled with renewed vigor.

He didn’t have many chances—not with his bottom-of-the-barrel defense—but he had a good six more tries before he’d be forced to concede defeat, and he wasn’t going to give up until he absolutely had to. Not with Keith watching.

His second attempt went exactly as well as his first.

On his third try, he managed to stay on a bit longer by gripping onto the Globinheffer’s sides with his knees, but it was ultimately able to twist him off by running in circles.

The fourth Globinheffer, instead of waiting to be mounted, ran at Lance and rammed him in the chest with its horns, knocking off twice the HP every other Globinheffer had cost him before he’d even had a chance to climb on.

While Lance was clinging desperately to the fifth Globinheffer’s neck, Keith walked his Globinheffer beside him and sent him a smirk that landed somewhere between amusement and pity. “Are you ready to ask for help yet?” asked Keith, leaning over sideways to try to meet Lance eye-to-eye.

“Oh, no,” said Lance, holding on tighter to his yet-stationary Globinheffer’s neck. “I’m totally fine. We’re, uh, we’re best buddies already. We’re on a first-name basis and everything.”

“Is that right?” asked Keith, unconvinced.

“Yep,” said Lance, feigning confidence. “His name is Kaltenecker.”

Keith looked at Lance’s Globinheffer, then back to Lance. “...That’s a girl.”

“ _What_?” squawked Lance, genuinely surprised. “But he’s got _horns_! Er… I mean… How _dare_ you _misgender—_ Aaah!”

The Globinheffer Lance was riding started shaking him back and forth, unenthusiastically trying to rid itself of its rider like it would a fly.

Keith laughed.

Lance warily pried open the eyes he’d squeezed shut.

“Just take the one I’m riding,” said Keith, sitting up straight. “They become tamer over time with a rider, so she won’t try to throw you off unless you really make her mad.”

“No way,” said Lance, glaring up at Keith. “I can do this. I just need—”

Keith’s smile disappeared. “You’re level 24 and you’re wearing armor outside your class. How much health do you have left? A fourth?”

Lance grumbled. That was _exactly_ what he had left.

“Just let me help,” said Keith, leaning down closer again.

“I don’t need your help!” snapped Lance. “I can do this!”

“You’re going to die before you figure it out!” said Keith, raising his voice. “You have to learn when to give up!”

“Did you skip kindergarten or something? Quitters never win, Keith!”

“This isn’t a game, Lance!”

“Except it _is_! It _literally is_!”

Keith’s eyes widened. His face was red. Bright red. And not embarrassed, bashful red, but fiery, furious red. Lance shrank against his Globinheffer, distinctly aware that he’d crossed some invisible line.

“ _Not for me!_ ”

There was a screech, something animal that Lance had only a tick to register as both his Globinheffer and Keith’s. He had even less time after that to put together that it was Keith’s rage-driven yell that had set them both off. And normally, Lance would have loved to rub that in Keith’s face, to blame _him_ for ruining a perfectly good attempt at taming a Globinheffer, but long before Lance had the chance to put that together, he was already completely trapped in his worst nightmare.

Underwater.

_surface—where’s the surface—there’s no surface—what’s pulling—rapids—river stones—sharp—cold—no surface—it hurts—no air—can’t breathe—river—no air—going to die—where is he—no air—no air—no air_

Lance screamed.

_where—where—where is he—where—he should be here—where is—where_

Only silence tore from his throat.

Silence...and what little breath Lance had left in his lungs.

_Where is he?_

 

* * *

 

In the time it took for Shiro to answer the door and pay for their takeout, Matt had moved to the floor again. His eyes were red and puffy, but aside from that, he was almost identical to the last time Shiro had followed him out onto the balcony.

“Hey,” greeted Shiro softly.

“Hey,” said Matt tiredly.

“You should really eat something,” said Shiro. The plastic bags rustled as he lifted them up.

Matt sighed heavily. “I know,” he admitted, but made no move to reach for the food.

Shiro lowered the bags slowly. “...Look, I’m about to say something you’re probably not going to want to hear—”

“You think I have PTSD.”

Shiro didn’t bother being surprised. “Do _you_ think you have PTSD?”

“...I tried looking it up,” explained Matt hesitantly. “Just enough to try to get a self-diagnosis before I even thought about seeing someone about it, but when I stopped working, I’d start thinking about—” Matt took a sudden deep breath, almost a gasp, but not quite. “ _—that_ …” He exhaled slowly. “...and you saw what happened.”

“So you’ve been drowning yourself in work so you wouldn’t have to face what you saw.” Shiro kneeled beside Matt. “I know you know that’s not healthy.”

“It’s probably not healthy to start crying every time you stop thinking, either,” said Matt. “Dehydration, you know?”

Shiro sighed. “I can’t make you do anything—”

“Unless you throw me over your shoulder, apparently.”

Shiro made an embarrassed, conceding grunt in the back of his throat. “But you _should_ see a therapist.”

Matt didn’t respond, but it wasn’t the same sort of silence from before. There was no empty chill. No bitterness. He just seemed to be thinking.

“Shiro?” he said after moment.

“Hm?”

“Lie down with me again?”

“Do you promise to eat if I do?”

“You know, this isn’t how bribing with food usually works.”

The corner of Shiro’s mouth twisted up, just a little. That was the most Matt-like thing Shiro had heard in weeks. “It’s how it’s going to work now. I’m only lying down with you if you promise to eat. Preferably before it gets cold.”

“In a minute,” said Matt. “I promise. Just lie down with me first. Please?”

Matt turned his head and looked at Shiro, _really_ looked at him, for the first time all day. And Shiro couldn’t resist that if he tried.

He set the food aside, and then carefully dropped to the floor by Matt’s side.

For a while, neither of them said anything. It was silent, but a more comfortable silence than it had been before. Either crying had helped or Matt had finally forgiven Shiro for putting his foot down. Either way, Shiro was grateful. It made everything easier if Matt was willing to at least make compromises.

“I keep looking at the stars,” said Matt. “And… You know that thing pessimists say about wishing on stars? About how stars are lightyears away, so wishing on them is pointless because chances are that the star you’re wishing on died a long time ago?”

“Yeah,” said Shiro slowly, hesitantly.

“Well, I keep thinking…” Matt sighed. “I mean, the day it… The day I found him… I was away from the house for hours. I had to meet with someone about the project, and then I had to pick Pidge up from school, and then we went grocery shopping… And that whole time, I had no idea. I just expected to go home and find my dad. I...took for granted that he’d be there when I got back. Like wishing on a dead star.”

“Matt—”

“And I realized,” continued Matt, overpowering Shiro’s protest, “that whole time I locked myself in my room, not talking to anyone except _myself_...that that could have happened again. Something could have happened to you, or to Keith, or Allura, or the rest of my family, and I...I-I wouldn’t have known.”

The back of Matt’s hand brushed against Shiro’s, and Shiro locked their hands together.

“I’m sorry I elbowed you in the face,” mumbled Matt, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to, I just—”

“I know,” said Shiro. “I know it was an accident. I...probably could have handled that whole thing better, I was just…” He shrugged. “I-I was scared. You weren’t acting like yourself, and after everything Pidge said…”

“Man, I owe them an apology, too,” sighed Matt. “Pidge and Mom both.” A beat passed. “And… And what I said before… _Everything_ I said before… I’m sorry about that, too. I didn’t mean to be such a…”

“Keith,” said Shiro, smirking. “You were acting like Keith.”

Matt groaned and put his arm over his face. “Ugh, no, don’t say _that_. I mean, I _love_ Keith, don’t get me wrong, but he’s so…”

“Passive aggressive?” offered Shiro.

“That,” said Matt. “And the thing is, I don’t think _he_ means to be, but _me_? I was definitely being a jerk on purpose.” He sighed and threw his arm to his side, letting it fall hard against the balcony floor. “Why do you even put up with me?”

“Probably because I love you,” said Shiro, airily, dismissively, as if it were no big deal, as if he wasn’t worried half to death over the boy beside him.

Matt squeezed his hand. A heavy sigh fell from his lips.

“Yeah, well… I love you, too. More than you’ll probably ever understand.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter. -finger guns-


	19. Difficulty Curve

Lance wasn’t coming up.

In the time it took Keith to calm his Globinheffer and turn her around, he still hadn’t come out of the water. He should have been on the shore, dripping wet and cursing Keith out for losing his temper. The slope from the edge of the water down was steep, yes. The water got very deep very fast. It was supposed to be like that; there was a method of fast-travel deep underwater meant for merpeople and certain mounts and it was intended to be difficult to get to. But Lance had still just been thrown into the water. It wasn’t as if he’d just decided to dive off the edge. He should have been near the surface. No deeper than three meters, and that was being generous.

So why hadn’t he reached the top?

Something was wrong.

Keith shirked off his bag and dismounted his Globinheffer. He was wearing heavy armor, and it wouldn’t exactly be easy to swim with it, but Lance was low on health and Keith still wasn’t sure exactly what the Galra were up to. How much power they really had. How far they were planning to go.

So he had no choice but to dive in.

Through the distortion of the water, Keith saw a whitish blur, something he recognized as his own clothing. It was near enough to the surface, but it wasn’t swimming upward. It wasn’t swimming at all.

Why?

Did Lance log out again?

Or did he _pass_ out again?

Keith kicked off and swam toward Lance as fast as his legs could propel him, weighed down by the thick fabric of his armored hanbok. He had barely touched Lance when he felt a shift in the water.

Lance was reaching out for him just as much as he was reaching for Lance.

Every movement was slowed by the water, but that didn’t stop Lance from wrapping his arms around Keith’s chest with a grip almost tight enough to squeeze the air out of Keith’s lungs. At least he was secure.

With Lance’s added weight, Keith swam upward until he broke the surface. Lance coughed and lurched as his lungs found air, but his grip on Keith didn’t ease up in the slightest. If anything, Lance seemed to hang onto him tighter.

Even when Keith dragged them both safely back on land, Lance refused to let go.

He was shaking.

He was shaking a lot, actually.

“Hey,” whispered Keith, hovering his hands awkwardly over Lance’s back, unsure of what to do with them. Unsure of what to do about _anything_ that was happening. “Are you, uh, okay?”

Lance’s fingers dug into the back of Keith’s armor, finding purchase on what little fabric wasn’t covered by scale mail. He shook his head, not once lifting his face away from Keith’s chest. His forehead pushed and pulled against the black, tattered fabric of Keith’s scarf with every movement, sliding it across Keith’s armor.

“Um… Okay.” Keith looked down at Lance’s trembling shoulders and knitted his brow.

Lance was having some kind of a breakdown.

And Keith...was way out of his depth.

He just sat there.

Unmoving.

Uncertain.

Lance quivering against his chest.

Keith closed his eyes. What was he supposed to do? He knew that the only reason Lance was clinging to him was that he was scared and Keith was the only one around. Lance just needed _someone_. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have latched onto Keith of all people. He could barely stand holding hands, even just to go through the West Gate.

But he also knew that comforting Lance would just cause problems in the future. Most likely the _near_ future.

But if he _didn’t…_

Keith cautiously put his hands on Lance’s shoulders.

Lance tensed.

So did Keith. “Uh, is this okay?” He was _definitely_ out of his depth.

Lance swallowed audibly, and, barely noticeable, he nodded.

“Are you sure?” asked Keith. “I can—”

Lance nodded again, more firmly.

“...Okay,” said Keith softly. He slid his arms across Lance’s back and held him tighter.

And Lance relaxed into him. At least, he did somewhat. He was still trembling, but Keith could tell that some sort of improvement had been made.

The decision to hold Lance had been a good one. At least, in the short-term.

Keith tilted his head back and looked up at the white, cloudy sky overhead. How many times had Shiro held him the same way he was holding Lance? When was the last time? He couldn’t remember anymore. He couldn’t remember much of anything anymore. He usually didn’t like to. When he thought about Shiro, all he could remember was the last stiff conversation they had, and...what happened afterward.

No more hugs. No more talks. Just nothing. Until Keith started trying to help the people of Altea because he wanted so desperately to matter to someone. Even if none of it was real. Even if none of it really mattered.

At least...it _hadn’t_ , until…

Keith ran his hand down Lance’s back. He’d stopped shaking. When had that happened?

“Better?” asked Keith.

Lance made a weak, non-committal grunt. That was more than Keith had been able to get out of Lance before, so an improvement had clearly been made, even if it was a small one.

“Do you want me to keep—”

Lance nodded emphatically.

Keith sighed. “Okay.” He wasn’t going to argue.

As much as he hated to admit it, he probably needed someone to hold as much as Lance did.

 

* * *

 

"Are the two of you gonna hide behind that wall all day? Or are you gonna come out and show me what you're made of?"

Hunk looked Shay with wide eyes. His heart felt like it was vibrating. His stomach flopped.

But Shay... Shay looked just as scared as he was. And she actually had reason to be.

If Hunk died, he'd get sent back to town with no items and no way to easily climb back up because he'd lose his Pink Pearl. But if Shay died...there was no telling what would happen to her.

Hunk pursed his lips. He took a deep breath in through his nose and clapped a hand on Shay's wrist. He could only hope she understood his unspoken words.

_Stay_.

Judging by Shay’s horrified expression, she definitely understood.

“ _Hunk_!” she protested in a hiss. She reached out to grab his arm, but he pulled away before they could connect.

Hunk smiled at her, climbed to his full height, sent her a brave thumb up, and rounded the corner with shoulders squared, but shaking.

And that was when he learned that the big, muscle-bound Galra he’d been picturing in his mind and the Galra he saw before him were very, very different creatures.

The Galra Hunk found in the cave that day sent him an unimpressed glance and went back to stoking his fire.

“You ain’t Galra,” he accused in a grumble.

“Uh… But _you_ are,” said Hunk, wary and confused. “Why aren’t you, uh, attacking or—?”

“Don’t lump me in with those lowlifes,” said the Galra sharply, sending Hunk a glare. “I ain’t like them. Buncha cowardly types. They wouldn’ta called you out like I did. They’da snuck up behind you and cut you down like mercenaries.”

Hunk frowned. “So...you’re not gonna try to kill me?”

“As long as you don’t try to kill me firs’,” said the Galra. “Now why don’t you call your lady friend out here and we can have some o’ this stew I cooked up?”

Hunk’s eyes moved to the cauldron the Galra had hanging over the fire.

Well, at least he knew where the smell came from.

Maybe this Galra _was_ going to try to kill them after all.

Hunk walked to the fire and peered into the pot, frowning. It bubbled slowly, like a pool of light brown, sticky tar.

“Do you take constructive criticism?” asked Hunk, grimacing.

The Galra narrowed his eyes. “If you don’t wanna eat it, I’m not gonna force it down your throat.”

Hunk smiled. Okay, so this Galra really _was_ harmless.

“Shay!” called Hunk, looking over his shoulder. “It’s safe! He’s not a bad guy, just a bad cook.”

When Shay began to creep out from around the corner, her glowing eyes wide and wary, Hunk turned his attention back to the Galra.

He was scowling, but he looked more embarrassed than anything.

“You know,” said Hunk, “I’ve got some ingredients in my bag. I can probably fix this. Want me to give it a shot?”

“Go ahead,” said the Galra. “‘Snot like you could make it any worse.”

“Don’t cook much?” offered Hunk, shirking his bag.

“Nah,” said the Galra. “Used to have a familiar who did all the cookin’ for me, but we got attacked by a Weblum a while back an’... Well, no more familiar. Been takin’ care of myself ever since.”

“A Weblum?” Shay brushed a cool hand against Hunk’s arm. “Are we in Weblum territory?”

“Oh, for sure,” said the Galra. “Have been for three floors if you came from down below.”

While Shay and the Galra talked, Hunk set his ingredients out in rows. Umvy Spice, a few assorted tubers, some Palmagoren cuts, Balmeran Cave Root…

Hunk frowned at the last ingredient for a moment, then looked at the pot. It wasn’t dried out or powdered, so it didn’t have that chocolatey taste, but it was still a bit sweet. Maybe too sweet for a stew. Unless…

Hunk picked up the wooden spoon that had been sitting in the pot and timidly sipped the smallest taste of the stew.

Even that was too much.

He grimaced and dropped the spoon back in the cauldron. “Oh, _ew_! What— What _was_ that? What, did you not have any ingredient other than salt? Have you ever tasted something that isn’t salt in your entire life?”

The Galra looked at Hunk, stone-faced. “Is that the problem? Too much salt?”

“Oh, it’s _a_ problem,” said Hunk, setting out the tubers and Cave Root and anything in his inventory that had any starch in it whatsoever. “There are a whole lot of problems, but trust me, the salt is a big one. What— Who are you? Salt-Man? Are you secretly some kind of superhero whose superpower is just turning everything you touch into pure salt? Or is it just everything around you? Because I’m pretty sure we haven’t even tried to shake hands, but I’m still feeling pretty salty right now.”

The Galra raised his eyebrow. “Nope. No Salt Men here. Just Sal.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sal,” said Hunk stiffly. “My name is Hunk. And now that we’ve established that…” He snatched one of his own tubers off the ground and reached into his bag for a Galasu blade, which looked something like a Nakiri. “Never...ever...put more than, like, a _teaspoon_ of salt in _anything_ you ever make _ever again_.”

 

* * *

 

After what felt like an eternity, Lance finally let go. He scooted backward and ran his hands over his face a few times, muttering something in a language Keith didn’t recognize. After a few seconds of rubbing his eyes tiredly, Lance dropped both of his hands to his lap and sighed emphatically, looking pointedly away from both Keith and the lake.

Keith was tempted to apologize  for yelling, but he was afraid of starting another fight by reminding Lance that he was the reason for whatever breakdown had just happened, so instead, Keith just asked, “Are you okay?”

Lance ran a hand through his still-wet hair. “Yeah, I… Yeah.”

Keith flicked his nails a few nervous times. “Okay… Um…” He took a breath in through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. “So… Here’s the thing. I was going to take you to a place where you could learn some more magic, but you look like you might need to log out as soon as possible, so...would you rather just go home?”

Lance slowly met Keith’s eyes. “When were you going to tell me about _that_ little detour?”

Keith just shrugged. “You were going to find out about it anyway.”

Lance narrowed his eyes in a skeptical glare.

Keith shrugged expectantly. “What?”

“Nothing,” said Lance, eyes still narrowed, but only for a moment longer. He sighed and dropped the expression in favor of rubbing his forehead. “Yeah, being...not-here sounds really good right now.”

Keith climbed slowly to his feet. “How’s your health?”

Lance lowered his hand and looked down in the bottom corner of his vision. “...I’m looking at a solid one.”

“One?” Keith furrowed his brow. “Like...a one on a scale of one to ten, or—”

“One as in one,” said Lance. “1 HP.”

“You have...one hit-point?”

“Yep.”

“No,” said Keith, manually opening his group menu again. “There’s no way—”

Lance’s status popped up.

His HP bar looked like a tube of lipstick on its last legs. Only the slightest sliver of red was visible at the very, very end.

Keith winced.

“Okay.” He sighed. “We’re...foregoing the Globinheffers.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“That means walking. Which is going to take longer.”

“How much longer?”

“Thirty minutes instead of twenty.”

“Mmkay. Reasonable. Think I could get you to carry me for those extra ten minutes?”

“No, but I’ll give you a hand up off the ground.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

 

* * *

 

Once the stew had been saved, Shay, Hunk, and Sal gathered in front of the fire and began to eat.

“Whoa,” said Sal, lowering the bowl from his lips. “Not bad, Kid. Not bad at all.”

“Well, I aim to please,” said Hunk, grinning confidently. “I’m not totally used to Altean ingredients yet, but I think I’m starting to get the hang of them, and I’ve always been great at improvising. I mean, Shay seems to like my cooking well enough so… Shay?”

When Hunk turned his eyes on Shay, he found her frowning at her bowl. Either she didn’t care for the soup—which would have been out of the ordinary for sure—or she was deep in thought.

“Shay?” tried Hunk again, nudging her arm with his elbow.

“Hm?” Shay lifted her head. “Oh, sorry, I was only...wondering something.”

“What is it?” asked Hunk, lifting his bowl to his lips.

“Well…” Shay turned toward Sal, eyes wide. “Are you, perhaps, with the Blade of Marmora?”

Hunk lowered his bowl. “Blade of Marmora? What’s that?”

“It is a Galra rebellion group,” said Shay. “They were a group rumored to work with Matt Holt directly. For the most part, the rumors died with Matt Holt, but some say that they continue to work under his ghost.”

“His...ghost,” said Hunk skeptically.

“Is it so unlikely?” asked Shay. “Some would call _me_ a ghost, would they not?”

“So the rumors have spread as far as Balmera, huh?” asked Sal, leaning back on one hand. “I thought they stopped in Olkarion. Guess not.”

“Does that mean that you _are_ with the Blade of Marmora?” asked Shay. “I can think of no other reason for why a Galra would be so...accommodating.”

“Wouldn’t be able to tell you if I _was_ a Blade, now, would I?” asked Sal, raising his bowl in a toasting gesture toward Shay. “And anyway, I’m only 3/4ths. See? Got my mother’s eyes.” He gestured toward his eyes, which indeed lacked the yellow glow Hunk had read about.

“So what are you doing down here?” asked Hunk. “You’re the first person we’ve seen above the first level. Are you, like, trying to _avoid_ other Galra or…?”

“Well, sorta,” said Sal. “I mean, that’s part of it.”

He sat upright and leaned forward, pressing his elbows into his knees.

“You know that Weblum I mentioned before?”

 

* * *

 

Walking to the inn wasn’t as bad as Lance thought it would be.

And the main reason for that was that Keith started to talk.

Not that Keith was very good at talking.

“So...what’s your favorite color?”

But he was trying. And Lance was grateful for that.

“Green. And I’m gonna go ahead and guess that yours is red.”

“How did you know?”

Lance wordlessly tugged at his borrowed tunic, then gestured at Keith’s armor, an amused half-smile playing on his lips.

“Oh.” Keith looked down at the ground beneath his feet. “I, uh, guess that would do it.”

“What I want to know is how you got so many red outfits,” said Lance. “All the clothes I find at the tailors’ are either blue or neutral colors.”

“Arus blue,” said Keith. “It’s the kingdom’s color because of Blaytz the Romantic. If you want clothes that aren’t blue, you’ll either have to get clothes from another country or you’ll have to make your own dyes.”

“Dyes?” Something fell into place in Lance’s mind. “Wait… Do you make dyes from flowers?”

“Have you ever played a game where the dyes weren’t made from flowers?” asked Keith, lifting his head to look at Lance.

“You totally planted all those hibiscuses in the woods with all those Draugrs, didn’t you?”

Keith raised his eyebrows. “You...noticed that?”

“They’re kind of hard not to notice,” said Lance, smirking playfully. “They’re all over the place. How much red dye do you need?”

Keith quickly looked through the corner of his eye. “I just...like how it… If you harvest too many things without planting something in exchange, it triggers the Drazil battle, so…”

“So every time you take something from the forest, you plant a hibiscus,” said Lance, deadpan.

Keith frowned. “It’s just what’s convenient for me. I usually have hibiscus seeds on me because they’re a byproduct of the dye, so—”

“Do you have seeds on you right now?” Lance’s grin widened.

Keith sighed and reached into his bag for a handful of tiny brown, bean-shaped seeds.

Lance raised his eyebrows, still smiling. “Wow. Keith, closeted gardener.”

Keith sighed and returned the seeds to his bag. “They’re handy,” he grumbled.

“I know,” said Lance. “But I’m still gonna tease you for it.”

Keith sighed sharply.

Lance slipped his hands into his borrowed belt in lieu of his usual pockets. Things were going to get quiet fast if he didn’t keep their momentum going. He could already tell that this was going to be a problem with Keith. “So we’ve discussed favorite colors. How about favorite movies?”

Keith’s eyes darted in Lance’s direction. He squinted for a moment in a way that left Lance feeling unsure of whether Keith was thinking about his answer or contemplating Lance’s murder just for asking. “You haven’t heard of it,” he said at last, frowning.

Lance rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, you hipster. You won’t know that until you tell me.”

Keith sighed and looked down at the ground again. “It’s from 2018.”

“Okay, that’s a pretty old movie,” admitted Lance. “But come on, I’ve watched a couple of movies from the 1980s. Give me the benefit of the doubt.”

Keith sighed again, this time more emphatically. “Fine. It’s called _Look, Don’t Touch_.”

Lance laughed shortly. “Nope, never heard of that.”

“Told you,” grumbled Keith.

“So tell me about it.”

Keith hesitated, but only for a moment. “...With or without spoilers?”

Lance grinned. “Go ham. I want to have a college-level discussion about this.”

Keith scoffed. “College-level, huh?” He sighed. “Okay, well…”

As it turned out, Keith could be pretty talkative provided it was a topic he was actually interested in. Lance had to admit, as much as he got a kick out of watching the vein in Keith’s temple throb when he brought up a contradiction in the world-building or a simpler solution to a conflict in the story, it was just as much fun watching Keith light up ever so subtly when he talked about his favorite characters and scenes. His naturally-hardened expression softened just a little when he talked about the protagonist’s struggles to connect with people. The smallest of smiles—totally imperceptible if Lance hadn’t been paying close attention—tugged at the very corners of Keith’s eyes when he talked about how peaceful the opening scene was.

And for the first time, Lance started to really understand why everyone in Arus seemed so infatuated with Keith. He’d thought at first that it was just because Keith was the only one in the whole kingdom who did quests and bought items. But if there was more to it than that, it had to be in that little glimmer of light Lance had just noticed.

Maybe it was there more than Lance thought.

Maybe Keith wasn’t as angry of a person as Lance thought he was.

_Maybe he just...doesn’t like me._

It would make sense, wouldn’t it?

After all, if the theory Lance came up with by the lake was correct, then Keith wasn’t really a bad person. He was actually pretty nice. Or at least he tried to be. He’d saved Lance more times than Lance could count, even tried to help Lance out with a spell, but he always seemed like he’d rather be anywhere other than where he was.

Or...anywhere other than where _Lance_ was, probably.

But not in that moment. When he wasn’t thinking about who he was with or what he was putting up with, he seemed a lot happier.

And Lance kind of _liked_ happy Keith.

He just wished he got to see more of it.

Unfortunately, people don’t always get what they want.

Two vargas had passed in Altea by the time Keith and Lance reached the inn. The sun had set. Their journey had come to an end. And Lance knew he should have been relieved to be able to log off without worrying about waking up Undead again, but…

“—but it was so satisfying to watch them punch him right in the face. I can’t explain it. You’d have to see it for yourself.”

“Hey, maybe I’ll watch it after I log off.”

“You already know how it ends, though.”

“So? It’s a totally different experience to watch something. I might interpret it totally different from the way you did.”

...honestly, Lance just wanted to keep talking to Keith.

Keith crossed his arms, one eyebrow quirked. “Knowing you? Yeah. You probably will.”

“And it’ll be, like, a thousand times better than your interpretation,” said Lance, leaning an arm against the inn’s door frame.

Keith made a sound that landed somewhere comfortably between scoff and laugh. “I don’t think that’s how interpretations work, Lance. They’re opinions. One can’t be better than—”

“Usually, yeah, but this is you and me, so obviously, mine’s always gonna be better.”

Keith’s good-natured eye-roll just made Lance’s faux-confident smirk grow wider. “Right.”

They fell silent simultaneously.

Keith glanced at the door.

Lance dropped his arm and stood up straight.

There was something in the air. Like static. Something Lance couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was in the same realm as walking someone to their door after a date and trying to figure out if they wanted a good night kiss, but...it wasn’t _quite_ the same.

“I guess I better head in,” said Lance awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Keith’s smile disappeared. “Yeah. I guess so.”

Lance took a deep breath. If he just _asked—_ “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

Keith grimaced. “Maybe that’s not the best idea. I mean, going off our track record so far, let’s hope not.”

Lance dropped his hand to his side. “Heh, yeah. Guess you’re right.”

_Ouch_.

“So this is goodbye, then, huh?”

“Guess so,” said Keith, shrugging.

Lance reached for the door handle. “See you around, Keith. Or, uh, not.”

Keith stepped away from the door and raised his hand in a half-hearted wave. “Take care, Lance.”

Lance waved back, and he disappeared behind the inn’s front door.

It clicked to a close behind him and he pressed his back against it. With a quiet groan, he ran a hand down his face.

_He_ definitely _doesn’t like me._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kids, I am so tired.


	20. Screenshot

Shiro couldn’t help the fond smile on his face. Not that he was really trying all that hard, but he knew he wouldn’t have gotten that far if he did.

It was just good to see Allura and Matt talking, especially so animatedly. They seemed happy, carefree, which was something Shiro hadn’t seen from Matt in far too long. He’d been talking about EMDR. Maybe that had actually proven helpful. Or maybe it was just getting away for a weekend that was helping. Maybe a mix of the two. Well, either way—

“Earth to Shiro. Hey.”

Shiro abruptly zoned back into the fast-food restaurant and turned his head to find Keith watching him, a knowing and patient smile on his face.

“I know you’re head over heels,” said Keith, wagging a Styrofoam cup back and forth, “but we should probably get our drinks and get out of the way before someone else needs to use the soda fountain.”

Shiro’s eyes darted back to the window, then back to Keith. “Uh, right.” He took the cup Keith had been holding and quickly pushed it under the nozzle.

“So which one of them were you staring at this time?”

Shiro’s hand flinched so violently that ice jumped out of his cup and clattered to the floor. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Keith’s expression turned deadpan. He couldn’t have looked less impressed.

It only took a couple of seconds for Shiro to break under that expression. “How long have you known?”

“I figured out that you liked Matt first,” said Keith, leaning against the side of the machine. “I was pretty surprised when you started dating Allura. I didn’t think you’d date someone out of pity. But I started paying more attention. And I was right, it wasn’t pity. You just like her. And Matt. Both.”

“Could you say that a _little_ quieter?” asked Shiro, occupying himself with crouching down to pick up the ice he’d spilled. When he climbed back to his full height, he found Keith watching him with concern, even pity.

“Have you told Allura?” he asked, eyes unusually soft.

“She knows,” grumbled Shiro. “She’s actually a little too enthusiastic about it.”

“Really?” Keith looked to the window Shiro had been looking through just a moment before, then back to Shiro. “Like she wants a threesome, or—?”

“Keith!” hissed Shiro.

“What?”

“I never want to hear that word out of your mouth ever again.”

“I’m eighteen, Shiro. I’m old enough to have a mature conversation about sex.”

Shiro rubbed the bridge of his nose. “That doesn’t mean I want to hear my little cousin talk about my sex life.”

“It doesn’t have to be weird unless you make it weird,” said Keith, shrugging.

“That isn’t what she’s excited about in the first place,” grumbled Shiro, turning back toward the soda fountain.

“Then why would she be excited that you like someone—?”

Shiro swore he could hear the realization bounce off the inside of Keith’s skull.

“She’s going for poly?”

“Well, Matt’s gay, and she knows that, but…” Shiro watched his cup steadily fill with root beer, brow knitted. “She’s enthusiastic about the idea of, uh, _sharing_ me.” His nose wrinkled.

“And...you’re not?” asked Keith. “How come? You like both of them. Allura’s all for it.”

Shiro laughed bitterly. “It isn’t just up to Allura.”

“Have you tried talking to Matt about it?” pressed Keith.

“No,” said Shiro. “No way. He’s got enough on his plate right now without finding out his best friend has been in love with him since high school.”

“It might clear some stuff _off_ his plate,” said Keith. “It could answer some questions he has. Make things easier.”

“What he needs now is a _friend_ ,” said Shiro, firmly avoiding Keith’s gaze as he reached into the lid dispenser by the soda fountain.

“But that’s not the whole reason you’re not talking to him about it,” said Keith, audibly annoyed. “What I don’t understand is the rest of the reason. I mean, you have a problem and there’s the solution. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

“But it is,” said Shiro, setting his drink on one of the two plastic trays. “And I don’t want to talk about it right now. We can talk about this later, when Matt and Allura aren’t waiting on us to bring their food outside.”

Keith sighed. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Fine. You’re right. Like usual. But I do want to talk about this later.”

Shiro sent Keith a skeptical frown. “Since when are you the mature adult here?”

“Since you stopped having a mature adult in your daily life,” said Keith, smiling sadly. “I figured I better step up.”

“I’ve got Colleen,” said Shiro, returning Keith’s smile. “And your dad.”

“But Colleen’s dealing with almost as much as Matt is, and my dad’s...”

Keith trailed off. His gaze fell to the floor.

Shiro sighed. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s…” Keith lifted his hand in an uncertain but certainly unhappy gesture.

“Stagnant?” offered Shiro.

“That,” grumbled Keith, grabbing one of the trays.

“Hang in there,” said Shiro, reaching for the second tray. “He’ll be okay.”

“It’s...kind of hard to think that after what happened to Matt’s dad.”

Shiro sighed and pressed his eyes shut. “There’s a difference.”

“Then what is it?” demanded Keith, any maturity he was going for thrown out the window. “What’s the _big difference_ between what my dad is going through and what Matt’s was?” Apparently, it was Shiro’s turn to be the adult.

“Your dad’s being treated,” said Shiro, opening his eyes and looking hard into Keith’s face. “That’s an advantage that Sam didn’t have.”

Keith looked down at the tray in his hands, his expression softening. And when he looked back up at Shiro, there was a little less despair in his eyes. A little more hope.

“Thanks,” said Keith, one corner of his mouth lifting in what could almost—but not quite—be called a smile.

Shiro nudged his arm.

The almost-smile turned into a smile.

“That’s better,” said Shiro. “Come on. Matt and Allura are waiting for us.”

Waiting might have been a strong word, Shiro realized, as they stepped through the restaurant doors and joined Matt and Allura in the outdoor seating. Neither of them was completely seated, both hovering just out of their chairs as they leaned across the table, supported primarily by their elbows, as they rattled off word after word at difficult-to-follow speeds.

“But the best advantage about that is that instead of being told what to do, you can be shown what has already happened and come up with your own solution to the problem—”

“The ‘show, don’t tell’ principle of storytelling!”

“Exactly! And this way, there can be more than one solution to the problem! Just like in real life!”

“But you have to be able to limit this somehow, otherwise things are going to get crowded fast.”

“Maybe if it’s only shown once—”

“No, you can’t do that. What if someone forgets?”

“Well, what if I made some sort of a key? Or, like, a set of keys? Make it something that you can only do if it’s part of a group.”

“Are you guys...talking about Altea?”

At the sound of Shiro’s voice, both Allura and Matt perked up and looked at him.

“All right!” said Matt, grinning. “Food’s here!”

“And yes, Shiro, we were,” said Allura, grinning just as wide.

“Hey, I needed a second opinion on the flashback feature,” said Matt. “Someone who actually might have something more productive to say other than ‘just don’t make it too easy’.”

“That’s Shiro for you,” sighed Allura. “He never wants to do anything the easy way.”

“Tell me about it,” grumbled Keith.

Shiro elbowed him in the arm, eyes narrowed.

Keith just smirked, apparently satisfied by throwing Shiro not quite under the bus, but at least in the bus’s path.

Thankfully, neither Allura nor Matt had a clue what Keith was referring to. Both seemed much more interested in the food Shiro and Keith were setting on the table.

“Chicken, no mayonnaise. That’s yours, right, Allura?”

“That would be correct. Thank you, Matt. Oh, no onions or pickles. There you are, Keith.”

“Thanks.”

“And let me guess, the large fries are for Captain Carbo Load?”

Shiro rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Yes, those are mine.” He sat down between Matt and Allura at the small, round, stone table, across from Keith.

“And the bacon double cheeseburger?” asked Matt, smirking and pushing the wrapped sandwich toward him.

“Yes, Matt, that’s mine, too.”

Matt just grinned. “I have no idea how you manage to eat all that and still stay Dorito-shaped. I mean, Allura, can you believe this?”

Allura, whose mouth was full, gestured an agreement.

Matt grinned. “See? Allura’s just as shocked as I am.”

“You should see these old photo albums my dad has,” said Keith off-hand. “Shiro used to be a twig.”

“And let me guess,” said Matt, gesturing toward Shiro with a half-unwrapped straw. “You still ate the same stuff.”

Shiro shrugged. “I work out.”

“See, that explains the bulk now, but not being a twig,” argued Matt.

“I ran around a lot as a kid,” said Shiro, shrugging. He sipped thoughtfully from his root beer. “...Well, I guess I have a pretty high metabolism, too.”

“Oh, you think?” teased Matt, raising an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips as he popped a french fry into his mouth.

Shiro couldn’t help it. Not when Matt was looking at him like that. He reached up and put a hand on Matt’s shoulder, tugging him close, within whispering range.

“You seem like you’re feeling better,” he murmured. “I’m glad.”

Matt looked up at him and swallowed, honey-colored eyes wide. “Uh, yeah, I am,” he admitted. “I have a couple more EMDR sessions to go to, but it’s already helped a lot. I mean, studies show that one-hundred percent of single-trauma victims have been shown to no longer exhibit signs of PTSD after six fifty-minute sessions of— I’m rambling. Sorry. Uh, yeah, I’m feeling better.”

“Good,” said Shiro, squeezing Matt’s shoulder. “I missed your smile.”

Matt raised his eyebrows and he opened his mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by the digital emulation of a camera shutter.

When Shiro turned his head, he found Allura holding up her phone with her long, elegant fingers, one hand hovering over the camera button.

She and Keith wore matching smirks.

“Oh, come on,” sighed Shiro.

“Hey! Picture rule!” protested Matt.

“And I’m willing to deal with the punishment,” said Allura, lowering her phone. “That was too cute to pass up. I’m making it my lock screen. Keith, do you want a copy?”

“Sure,” said Keith, smirking. “I’ve never had blackmail of Shiro before. Should be exciting.”

“Okay, that’s it. Keith, you’re officially an accomplice.” Matt jumped out of his chair and yanked his phone out of his pocket with one hand, pointing his accusation at Keith with the other. “Stand up. You’re in the picture now.”

“Fine,” said Keith, shrugging as he stood from his chair. “I don’t mind getting my picture taken.”

“That’s because you have no soul to take,” said Matt. “Shiro, you’re in the picture, too.”

“It’s not my fault they took a picture,” protested Shiro. “I have no part in this.”

“I want a cute picture of my friends,” said Matt. “Get up here.”

Shiro sighed emphatically.

“Aww, don’t be like that—”

“Matt, can I borrow your ear for a moment?”

Matt raised his eyebrows and turned toward Allura. “Sure?” he answered uncertainly.

Allura grinned and leaned in close, cupping her hands around her mouth as she leaned in close to whisper something into Matt’s ear.

A slow grin pulled at Matt’s lips until it seemed to split his face right in half. “Oh, really?” he said aloud, clearly not as worried about anyone hearing as Allura was. The look he sent Shiro was so full of mischief that it filled Shiro with dread.

“What?” Shiro’s shoulders tensed.

Allura pulled back, beaming just as wide as Matt was.

Shiro couldn’t help thinking that the way they were staring at him reminded him of a pair of creepy twins from a horror movie.

Or like a coyote that had just found a wounded rabbit.

Keith’s hand came down on Shiro’s shoulder like a hammer and Shiro flinched violently. When he looked over his shoulder at his younger cousin, he found a stern expression filled with all the wisdom of an old cowboy in a Hollywood western, and that expression was focused steadily on Matt and Allura.

“You’re doomed,” said Keith with so much grave finality that Shiro almost believed it.

Shiro brushed Keith’s hand off with a sigh. “Cut it out,” he grumbled. “Can we just take this picture?”

“Excellent idea, Shiro,” said Allura, clapping her hands together. “Let’s.”

Shiro immediately regretted saying anything at all.

At least any suspicions that Allura might have just told Matt about Shiro’s attraction toward him were immediately dismissed.

This had something to do with the picture.

That was almost as bad.

“Keith, you stand over here,” directed Allura. “Shiro, sit down here, in front. Matt, you know what to do.”

“That I do,” said Matt, resting one hand on Shiro’s shoulder, the other occupied by his phone.

“This isn’t going to end up with me drenched in soda, is it?” asked Shiro skeptically.

“Shiro, that would be mean,” said Allura in a tone that didn’t make Shiro any less worried that she’d considered it. “We wouldn’t be mean, would we, Matt?”

“Of course not,” said Matt with that same bright, happy, worrisome tone. “We love you too much to be _mean_ to you.”

“Uh-huh…” said Shiro, narrowing his eyes skeptically as Matt took his hand away to wrap his arm around Keith’s back for the picture.

“That’s right,” said Allura. “We love you an _awful lot_.”

“ _Very_ much,” corroborated Matt.

“ _So_ much,” said Allura.

“More than words can say,” said Matt.

Keith sighed emphatically, echoing what Shiro was thinking. “Guys, seriously.”

“Okay, for real.” Matt kneeled next to Shiro, his phone hand extended in front of everyone, front-facing camera on. “Keith, crouch down a little more, and Allura— Yeah, perfect. Okay, now take the phone, ‘cause I’m gonna need a hand free for this.”

“What do you need a _free hand_ f—”

Shiro froze.

His mouth snapped shut with a click.

In all the years he’d known Matt, he’d never felt a touch as gentle as the one that had just appeared under his jaw.

But that was quickly outdone by the touch of Matt’s lips on his cheek only a second later.

The next few seconds went by very quickly. Allura’s familiar lips mirrored Matt’s on his opposite cheek, making the goosebumps crawling across Shiro’s neck and arms spread even faster. Keith barked a surprised, amused laugh. Matt’s phone made a shutter noise.

And then it was all over. Matt and Allura both pulled away. Allura handed Matt’s phone back.

Keith was still laughing, but Shiro couldn’t be mad at him for that. Not because of how audible his attempts to stop were, but because Shiro was still frozen, back and shoulders tense, eyes wide, face bright red.

Matt snickered. “Oh, man, look! Look at Shiro’s face!” He turned his phone around, clearly to show Keith and Allura, but when Shiro snapped out of his stupor enough to look in Matt’s direction, he could easily see it as well.

And once he’d gotten over how what the stopping of his heart looked like from the outside, he looked at his own face. Matt was right to laugh. He looked ridiculous. His shoulders were up by his ears as if someone had just pressed ice to the back of his neck. His lips were pursed into a thin line. His eyes were as wide as coasters. Above all else, though, he was red. Bright red. He had no idea someone could turn so red so fast.

Keith started laughing harder.

Shiro sent Allura a pointed glare.

She smiled innocently.

He groaned and buried his face in his hands.

They lied.

Matt and Allura had to be the meanest people Shiro knew.

 

* * *

 

Shiro’s left thumb hovered over the screen of his phone, the only light in his room save for what little blue, cloudy light managed to squeeze through his closed drapes.

He’d forgotten about that picture.

The first time Matt ever kissed him. In any way. In all fairness, it was Allura’s idea, but Matt had been nothing less than willing to participate. More willing than Shiro would know for another year yet. Another year of Keith’s nagging for him to say something, and a few more months of Allura joining in on that nagging.

Shiro clenched his jaw and tried his hardest not to blink. If he blinked, the tears welling in his eyes would fall, and he’d already done more than his fair share of crying over any of them. He didn’t want to keep crying over them. He was done crying over them.

But it was hard, looking at a picture of the three closest people in his life and knowing that he’d lost all of them.

That he’d lost _everyone_.

The screen on his phone dimmed, then blackened, and he lowered it face-down on the pillow he had his cheek pressed into.

And when he did, he saw Matt’s spot on the bed.

Empty for months now.

Cold.

Too tidy.

Matt didn’t steal the blankets anymore. Shiro didn’t wake up in the middle of the night, frowning when he had too many blankets because that meant Matt had come up with something for Altea and had gotten too excited to sleep. He didn’t spend a few minutes of some nights wondering if he should leave Matt to his own devices or if he should get up and surprise Matt with a cup of tea. There was no Matt in front of his desktop to greet in the dark anymore. No one bouncing in his chair at four in the morning, swearing up and down that he dreamed up the best idea. No one to steal early-morning kisses from before Shiro retreated back to their bedroom.

There was no Keith emerging from _his_ bedroom to growl death threats at them for waking him up, either, but that had been going on for a little longer.

Shiro let go of his phone and reached across the bed, to Matt’s pillow, and gripped a fistful of his pillowcase.

Shiro had checked more times than he could count—it didn’t smell like Matt anymore.

Even his smell had left.

Shiro was alone.

He’d messed up too many times and everyone was gone.

At least...mostly.

Shiro sat up gradually. His long, white bangs fell in front of his right eye.

Every movement slow and uncertain, Shiro climbed out of bed. He dragged his feet across his bedroom floor and through the hallway until he reached his living room, where his VolTech headset sat prone on the floor. He crouched down to scoop it up with his left hand and, with a bit of minor struggle, got it to sit straight on his head so that the sensors could pick him up.

Even if this Matt wasn’t real, Shiro wanted to see him.

Just to have some part of him.

Just for a while.

 

* * *

 

Matt had been keeping a close eye on his casting time, but he still found himself keeping his distance and sneaking behind trees.

The last thing he wanted was for Pidge to see him because he’d underestimated their intelligence stat.

But at least, judging by the shelter Pidge had been working on for the past few doboshes, they were getting ready to log off.

They were smart to craft a Sleeping Bag in a place like Olkarion. Getting lost in a maze would have to be a thousand times more frustrating if they had to start over every day. Some people might have liked the idea of starting fresh, but Pidge? No, Pidge would prefer working at something until they made progress, no matter how small that progress was.

The enemies Pidge had run into so far were all run of the mill, normal enemies they would have been bound to find in Olkarion regardless of what had been happening lately, and Matt felt no need to step in when Pidge clearly had the situation under control.

He’d step in if he saw a Galra.

But there was no need so far. Not just yet.

“Okay!” Pidge said loudly, nearly startling Matt from the tree branch he was crouched down on. “Done. Looks good, right, Rover?”

Matt smiled fondly, not for the first time that day. _Rover_. If Pidge only knew…

“Rover” trilled happily and Pidge scratched under his neck feathers before setting him down on the branch where they’d set up camp.

“Why, yes, I _am_ the best tent-maker. Thank you for noticing.”

Matt bit his lip to keep his grin from turning into laughter.

God, he missed Pidge.

He really, really did.

“Okay.” Pidge disappeared past the cloth flaps of their tent. “That’s all for today, buddy. Good night, Rover!”

A beat passed, and “Rover” leaned forward, head slightly bowed, disappointed. Pidge must have officially logged off.

“ _Dispel_ ,” whispered Matt. His textures faded back in, making him visible again.

The second he sidled around the tree trunk he’d been hiding behind, “Rover” noticed him and perked up immediately.

“Hey, Bae Bae,” whispered Matt, creeping closer quietly, just in case Pidge was still around to hear him. “How are you, buddy? Huh?”

Bae Bae β chirped eagerly and flapped up to perch on Matt’s arm, hooking its four beetle-like legs around Matt’s arm.

“You takin’ good care of Pidge for me?” gushed Matt, scratching Bae Bae’s chest feathers.

Bae Bae spread its veiny, glassy wings as if trying to make room for Matt’s scratches.

“That’s what I thought,” crooned Matt. “Good boy, Bae Bae. _Good boy._ ”

A loud ding that most certainly did not come from Bae Bae β’s voicebank demanded Matt’s attention, and he opened his private messages warily, afraid of what Kolivan might have found.

But it wasn’t from Kolivan.

╔═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

 

Ｗｈｅｒｅ ａｒｅ ｙｏｕ？

 

－－ＡｄｍｉｎＳｈｉｒｏ

 

╚═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

Matt winced.

Oh, boy.

He wasn’t expecting to get caught so quickly.

He had some ‘splainin’ to do.

“Okay, Bae Bae.” Matt closed out his private messages and gave Pidge’s familiar one last scratch. “Looks like I’ve gotta go sooner than expected, buddy. But I’ll see you again in four quintants, okay?”

He set Bae Bae down on the tree bark just like Pidge had done, earning a cock of the head and a disappointed, eyeless stare in return.

“See you around, buddy.”

He reached for the Wedding Ring equipped to his left hand and ran his thumb over the subtle onyx inlaid in the center.

The grove glimmered into view, and so did Shiro, curled up against a crumbling wall.

The speech Matt had been beginning to mentally rehearse died in his throat before he got so much as a sound out.

“Shiro?”

Shiro lifted his head slowly.

His eyes were red. The tear stains on his cheeks caught the moonlight that peeked through the trees from overhead.

Matt felt like his heart was collapsing in on itself.

It wasn’t fair. Shiro was playing dirty. He shouldn’t have been able to look so vulnerable when Matt knew he was supposed to keep his distance.

He shouldn’t have looked like that at _all_.

And he should have had someone who wasn’t made of code to turn to when he was.

If Matt had been the only one affected by his own death, it would have been fine, he could have gotten over it. But seeing Pidge cry earlier, seeing Shiro like _that,_ made it increasingly clear.

He was never going to be able to fully forgive Honerva for what she caused.

“Please,” begged Shiro, reaching toward Matt.

Matt’s resolve must have been truly fragile if one word was all it took to break it.

He crossed the short distance between himself and Shiro in three quick strides, his cloak fanning out behind him, and he kneeled in front of the man who was once his. He pulled Shiro, sobbing and trembling, against his chest and held him tight.

Shiro clutched at Matt’s cloak desperately, face buried in his neck, his entire body seizing with every sob.

Matt closed his eyes.

He was _never_ going to forgive Honerva.

 _Never_.

 


	21. Armor

_There’s nothing wrong with it._

_You drink it every day, it’s in your body, it makes up most of the world. It’s not trying to hurt you._

_You take showers every morning, Lance. Come on. You can do this._

_It’s just water._

Lance stared down through the streams from the showerhead to the water gathering slowly around his feet. He’d thought that it would be easier this way. The water rose gradually, and it ran down his back and arms, down the legs he was hugging to his chest. He had all the time in the world to adjust.

But despite how warm the water was when it came out of the showerhead, it was still room temperature by the time it reached the tub where it was pooling.

It was too cold for Lance’s liking, too much like the river.

Lance took a deep breath in through his nose, and it seemed to stick in his throat, like he’d swallowed a block of wood whole. Or worse, an ice cube.

“Nope,” choked Lance. The water sloshed as he dove forward, his knees slamming against the floor of the tub as he reached for the lever that drained the water. “It was a nice attempt, but no.” He slammed his palm against the knob and the water stopped flowing from the showerhead. “Not today. No way.”

Lance cautiously climbed to his feet, legs shaking, and pushed the shower curtain back. He stepped onto the rug and grabbed his towel off the rack, drying as quickly as his hands could manage.

He dressed himself fast, silently thanking his past self for having the foresight to grab his warmest clothes before heading into the bathroom, and he stepped into the hallway, fuzzy socks, pajama pants, Christmas sweater and all.

He smelled blueberries.

Holding his arms and hunching his shoulders, Lance crept toward the kitchen. Once there, he sought out Hunk like a magnet to metal and pressed his forehead to Hunk’s back, right between his shoulder blades.

“Hey, buddy,” said Hunk, a smile in his voice. “You okay?”

“I’ll be better once I have a scone,” grumbled Lance, trying and failing to mute how miserable he felt.

“Uh, I mean you’re welcome to them,” said Hunk cautiously, “but they’re still cooling—”

“Perfect,” said Lance, pulling away and reaching around Hunk to grab a scone off the rack. It burned his fingers, and when he bit into it, it burned his tongue, but it was a good burn, one he appreciated.

Hunk looked at him through the corner of his eye. Concern rippled off him in waves, but he didn’t say anything, for which Lance was thankful. He just kept stirring the bowl of white something-or-other that he was working on. _Icing? Probably icing._

“You know what, Hunk?” asked Lance, transferring his scone from one hand to the other.

“Hm?” Hunk lifted his spoon out of the bowl.

“I’m real glad to have you around.”

Hunk frowned thoughtfully and turned his head toward Lance. “Okay, what did you do?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” said Lance. “Geez, I was just—”

Hunk narrowed his eyes and tilted his head back.

“Exposure therapy,” said Lance before the “mom look” could get any worse.

Hunk’s eyes widened as quickly as they’d narrowed. He dropped his chin back to its normal place and raised his eyebrows. “I thought you—”

“Gave up?” Lance gave a short, hollow chuckle. “You and me both, buddy.”

“So what made you pick it up again?” asked Hunk.

“I keep running into...stuff,” said Lance, looking down at the bite marks in his scone. “Snow, lakes, my own magic…” He dusted his hand off on his pajama pants. “I’m… I don’t want to associate Altea with panic attacks. It’s kind of my job, so I figured, if there’s anything I can do to at least make it less intense, I should probably, you know, at least _try_.” He shrugged. “Better on my own terms, right?”

Hunk exhaled slowly and audibly through his pursed lips. “Do you want a hug, or…?”

Lance, still holding his scone, opened his arms, and Hunk took his cue immediately, wrapping Lance up in a warmth that far exceeded any blanket.

“So, uh…” began Hunk right by Lance’s ear. “Just so you know? I’m proud of you. Like, super proud of you. Not like I wouldn’t be proud of you if you didn’t pick it up again—”

“I know what you mean, Hunk,” said Lance, holding his friend as tight as he could while trying not to coat his back in crumbs. “Thanks.” He sighed and pressed his cheek against Hunk’s shoulder. “I mean, could be worse, right? I bet being underground is cold all the time.”

“Actually…” Hunk pulled back from Lance with a sheepish grin. “Shay and I just found, like, a fire level?”

“Fire level?” Lance cocked an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I know, right?” Hunk grinned. “We were just walking along, minding our own business, and we round a corner and suddenly everything’s glowing orange and there’s a countdown in the corner of the screen. We’re actually stuck until we can find something to combat that.”

“Bytor Water,” said Lance automatically.

“Bytor Water?” echoed Hunk.

Lance nodded and gestured vaguely with his scone hand. “Go to a potion shop. It comes in these little tubes. Careful, though, if you leave it in your bag for too long, it makes these ice crystals that seal your inventory—”

He froze mid-sentence.

_Oh, crap._

“What?” asked Hunk.

Lance ran a hand down his face.

 

* * *

 

．．．ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｎｇ．．．

 

Ｕｓｅｒｎａｍｅ： ＴｈｅＴａｉｌｏｒ

 

Ｐａｓｓｗｏｒｄ： ＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

 

．．．ｅｎｔｅｒｉｎｇ Ａｌｔｅａ．．．

 

Ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ ｔｏ Ａｌｔｅａ

 

* * *

 

Lance’s room unfolded around him, just like always. And for the most part, everything in his room was the same as it always was.

There were, however, two big changes from the usual.

The first was the big chunk of ice hanging from the hook by his door where his bag used to be.

The second was the red and white tunic Lance was dressed in.

He ran his hands down the front of his lap and tugged at the edge, frowning.

“How am I supposed to get you back to Keith?”

Going back to the West Gate was a no-go. The only way Lance knew of to cross it was with Keith’s help.

The North Gate was presumably on the far side of the mountain range, which Lance had no interest in seeing again any time soon.

The South Gate was somewhere south of the Draugrs, and if the sun managed to set before Lance found out how to get through… His skin crawled at the very thought.

As for the East Gate… Lance didn’t even know where to start looking short of somewhere east, and even if he found the gate and managed to get through, that was one hell of a walk back to the western side of Arus. And he’d wind up having to go through either the cold or whatever was south of the South Gate anyway.

“I’m out of ideas,” grumbled Lance, muffled by the arms he’d pressed his face into. With a sigh, he lifted his head, tearing his eyes away from the wooden countertop he’d crossed his arms over. “Do you have anything?”

“Well…” The Arusian tailor snipped the thread from her latest mend with her teeth. “If Keith doesn’t want to be found—”

“I won’t find him,” grumbled Lance. “Yeah, I’ve heard.” He groaned and put his face back into his arms for less than a second before lifting his head again. “I mean, how do I know he doesn’t want to be found, anyway?” He gestured wildly with one arm, keeping the other on the countertop. “I mean, I’m wearing his clothes right now! You’d think he’d want them back!”

“It seems to me that you would know him better than I do,” said the seamstress, tracing the edges of the patch she’d just made with a pink, tapered finger. The frayed threads began to glow for the briefest of moments before sinking into the fabric and shifting back and forth like a spider burying itself in sand until the patch was indistinguishable from the original fabric of the sash. “Perhaps there is something about his behavior that you know, something that we do not. Something that makes him a bit more predictable, but only to you.”

“I don’t know him that well,” said Lance, dropping his free arm back down to the counter with an aggravated thud.

“You’ve managed to speak with him without exchanging goods or assigning a quest,” said the Arusian, moving on to the next singe. “That is more than any of us who tend shops can say.”

Lance furrowed his brow. “I know his favorite color,” he grumbled. “Anyone who looks at him could figure out that—”

He froze.

The world ground to a halt so abruptly that Lance swore he could hear the brakes squealing.

Keith’s favorite color.

Keith starting a conversation about his favorite color was actually going to help.

“I know where to find him,” said Lance, jumping off his stool. “I mean— I know where to start looking, which is definitely an improvement over a few minutes ago! I have to go right—”

“You are still wearing his tunic,” chided the Arusian, half-laughing.

“Right...after you finish fixing my thief clothes.” Lance climbed slowly back onto the stool. “And maybe sell me a new set of mage robes. I kind of...lost the old set. In a gruesome battle. Against this gigantic Galra. With two different-shaped eyes and this one gigantic arm.”

The Arusian giggled and tossed the sash she had been working on at Lance’s face. “I’m sure it was a heroic effort, Magicless Mage.”

 

* * *

 

The saplings Lance remembered seeing the last time he’d visited the woods had grown remarkably fast. Probably as the result of an intentional change from the real world to Altea. Something Matt and Shiro had done to keep the forests in the game from ceasing to be forests.

The hibiscus plants were spreading like wildfire, too. They blocked off natural pathways and forced Lance to make new routes.

But there were new plants, too. Younger ones spread around here and there.

And maybe if Lance followed the youngest of the plants…

There was no guarantee, of course. Just because Keith kept seeds on his person all times so he could pick red flowers when it suited his fancy didn’t mean that he was constantly planting those seeds.

But it was the closest thing to a lead Lance had.

His hand froze over the branches of a graveyard cypress and he frowned at the forest floor.

There was a pile of ash, and growing out of the center was a brand new sapling, one that barely peeked out of the very top.

And among the ashes sat a few sparse, glowing embers.

Lance tore his gaze from the pile and looked around, squinting as if that would help him see better through the trees.

“Okay, so, good news and bad news,” said Lance airily, crossing his arms. “Good news, I think I’m on the right track. Bad news…” He grimaced and walked past the ash pile. “I think I know where the track leads.”

Lance picked up his pace until he was almost at a run, knowing that if he took too long, he’d be too late. As little as he wanted the sun to set while he was in the forest before, he suddenly wanted it a great deal less.

Trees whizzed past him as he hurried through the woods. His clothes got caught more than once, particularly his newly-repaired sash, but thankfully there were no new tears to replace the old damage, and the snags never slowed him down for long.

Lance still had stamina left by the time he reached the shrines, where he stopped running immediately.

Not because of the possibility that Shiro had set up a trap for anyone who disrespected the dead—which was entirely probable and most likely would have stopped Lance in his tracks regardless—but because the second that Lance pushed past the last evergreen tree, he saw exactly what he was hoping to see.

Just not in the way he expected.

When Lance decided to look for Keith where the shrines were, he expected to see Keith waiting for the sun to set with a sword drawn, or at most standing over Matt’s grave with some kind of tough, determined expression.

He didn’t expect to find Keith sitting on the ground in front of Matt’s shrine, knees pulled to his chest, arms crossed over the tops of them, his gaze lifeless and empty.

Lance reached for his bag and slowly, silently pulled the clothes he’d borrowed free.

Maybe it wasn’t the best time, but there was no telling when Lance would see Keith again.

Carefully, quietly, Lance crept around the shrines, the broken, the overturned, and the illegible, until he reached Keith’s side. For a moment that felt just a little too long, Lance just stood, utterly silent, turning a fold at the top back and forth and back and forth.

“I, uh… I have the clothes you let me borrow,” he said at last, soft and uncertain.

Keith didn’t react.

Lance licked his lips. His gaze darted to Matt’s shrine, then back to Keith. Without a word, he lowered the clothes until Keith could easily reach them.

Keith took the clothes automatically, robotically, and rather than putting them in his bag, he simply held them loosely in his crossed arms, as if he were holding onto a teddy bear instead of a tunic and some chain mail.

“Thanks,” said Lance, keeping his voice low. “For letting me use them.”

Again, Keith didn’t respond.

Lance, unsure of what else he could possibly do, warily turned around and began walking back to the inn.

Every step he took toward the edge of the shrines felt wrong, as if he were trying to walk away from a magnet with iron shoes.

He made it as far as the last shrine before he stopped.

Lance’s eyes closed of their own accord. He took a deep, heavy breath, closed his hands into fists a few times, and tilted his head back on his shoulders.

Keith didn’t want him around. He knew that. He could tell when he wasn’t wanted.

But he couldn’t leave Keith alone. Not like that.

Maybe Lance wouldn’t have been Keith’s choice. Maybe he would have rather had that Arusian potion seller who seemed so fond of him, or someone like Coran who was just good with people. Maybe if he had the choice between Lance and a mosquito, he would have chosen the mosquito.

But Keith didn’t have a _choice_. There wasn’t anything or anyone around except for the graves, the trees, the flowers, and Lance.

So Lance turned around.

Pine needles and dead leaves crunched under his sandals with every step he took. The dirt itself seemed to shudder. But Keith seemed as silent as empty space, even when Lance sat beside him.

“...You want to hear a funny story?” offered Lance.

Keith didn’t answer.

Lance licked his lips. “Okay, so remember when we were in that burning building yesterday, and I gave you a bottle of Bytor Water?”

Still, nothing.

Lance continued as if that was the answer he’d been hoping for. “So I had three bottles, right? One for me, one for you, and one for the baker, except the baker was passed out when we found him, so I totally forgot I even had that third bottle.” He managed a smile, more for Keith’s sake than his own. “I carried it around all day yesterday. It was in my bag the whole time. In the basement, the whole Globinheffer disaster, the whole walk home… I didn’t even think to check until this morning, when my buddy Hunk was talking about being stuck in this volcano area in Balmera and I suddenly remembered that Bytor Water existed.”

Lance laughed softly and tilted his head back to look at the treetops overhead. “When I logged back in today, the first thing I saw was an inventorysicle hanging on my wall. I had to ask Coran for help. We put the whole friggin glacier into a cauldron with some Fire Oil and boiling water and basically made Leather Bag Soup. Then, once I got my clothes out of the bag, I had to figure out how to dry them before I could take them to the store to get them repaired because, I mean, how rude would that be, right?”

Keith still didn’t respond.

Lance took a deep breath and let it out slowly. _Push through it. Come on._

“So I started swinging my pants around in a circle outside,” he continued. “Just flinging water everywhere, trying to dry them out, and— Have you ever met Slav? Long, blue, eight hands?” No response. “Anyway, he wanted to talk to Coran about something, so he’d been in the lobby this whole time I was trying to dry my pants out, and he just opens the door, and I kid you not, I slapped him right in the face with my wet pants.”

Something flickered in Keith’s eyes. Something like recognition or amusement.

Lance’s heart leapt. It was so small, but it was something. His plan was working.

This time, when he smiled, it was real.

“So if you’ve met Slav, you know where this is going.” Lance put his hands down on the ground on either side of himself and he leaned forward, trying to worm himself into Keith’s line of sight. “The guy _flips_. He starts screaming about alternate realities and spitting out probabilities and swearing up and down that I could have just drowned my own grandfather in another reality just by flinging water around in a video game in this one. I try to get him to calm down, he goes even _more_ ballistic, and… Keep in mind what my morning was like. I just had to defrost my _shoes_ , all right? I’m a little on edge as it is, and this guy yelling in my face isn’t helping. So I grab the other end of my pants and start twirling my pants like a jump rope and—”

The smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of Keith’s lips. “You didn’t,” he murmured.

Lance’s own smile turned into a full-blown grin. “I swear on my life. I _rat-tailed Slav_. I mean, it wasn’t that _hard_ because it was just a pair of pants instead of a towel and it went through his clothes and everything, but it definitely startled him.” He laughed. “Was it a dumb idea? Yes. Yes, it was. It just made him yell even more, and I _immediately_ regretted it, but—”

Keith chuckled.

It was soft, barely audible, but it was there.

He lowered his face and pressed his forehead into the clothes in his arms and he laughed.

Lance’s breath caught in his throat. Goosebumps crawled up his back. He pressed his fingers into the dirt.

That...was a nice laugh.

But it ended all too soon, and Keith’s smile was quick to fade.

“...Why are you here?” he mumbled, barely audible.

Lance shrugged and leaned back on his hands. “To give the tunic back,” he said.

“I know that,” said Keith. He raised his head, but he didn’t look at Lance. He just looked back at the same point he’d been staring at before, straight ahead. “Why did you _stay_?”

Again, Lance shrugged. “You didn’t leave _me_ behind when _I_ needed someone.”

Keith’s gaze fell to the dirt, and Lance’s followed it there.

“...So why are _you_ here?” asked Lance. “Were you just thinking about him, or…?”

Keith’s answer seemed to take an eternity. “...I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” said Lance. “That’s fine. No pressure. I’m not gonna push you. I just thought, you know, if it would _help…_ ”

This time, Keith didn’t answer at all.

Lance took a deep breath, and he turned his shoulders away from Keith, toward Matt’s shrine.

Not for the first time, he found himself wishing that he could have known Matt Holt better. Maybe if he did, he’d know what to say to Keith, or to Pidge, or even to Shiro.

But he had nothing to draw on. They’d met all of once. That wasn’t nearly enough to know what Keith needed to hear when he was sitting in front of a memorial to someone who used to be his friend.

“Listen,” said Lance, keeping his eyes trained on Matt’s shrine, afraid of what he might see if he looked at Keith. “I know I’m not really the person you want to talk to. We barely know each other, and you kind of made it clear that you don’t care for me that much the last time we talked, but I’m not the only one in Altea who’s gonna be there for you if you need someone. Everyone I’ve met in this game knows who you are, and they all care about you. And if you aren’t talking to them because they’re NPCs, I’m not the only playtester here. And I can vouch for Hunk and Pidge, they’d listen.”

He ran a hand through his hair and down the back of his head until his hand reached his neck, where he let it hang loosely. His eyes slid down the legs of Matt’s shrine.

“I don’t want to be that guy,” said Lance, “but you don’t want to keep all of this inside you. I don’t know exactly what you’re dealing with, I don’t know what’s going on inside your head, and I don’t understand your feelings. But _no one’s_ going to understand if you don’t talk to them about it. And I can at least tell that whatever it is you’re dealing with, it’s not a battle you want to fight by yourself. And there are people who can _help_ you fight, so—”

Before Lance could finish, Keith climbed to his feet.

Lance looked up at him, but Keith didn’t look back down. He just kept looking straight ahead.

“You’re wrong about a few things,” said Keith, his voice weak. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it with anyone. I want to, I just…” He closed his eyes. “Everyone in Altea is here because Matt and Shiro wanted them to be, except for me.”

“Who cares if Matt and Shiro wouldn’t want you to be here?” countered Lance, turning toward Keith, but not yet standing. “Everyone else does. You should hear the way everyone talks about you. You’re their hero. Matt’s not here to tell you to leave, and from what I can tell Shiro’s kind of a jerk anyway—”

“Shiro’s not a jerk,” said Keith with such a firmness that it took Lance entirely off-guard. “He just… He’s lost a lot.”

“Kind of a weird way to talk about a guy you had a falling-out with,” said Lance.

Keith looked up, toward the computer-generated sky overhead. “I can’t be mad at him,” he said quietly. “It was my own fault.”

Lance opened his mouth, dying to know what Keith meant, but he shut it again fast, afraid of prying, afraid of making Keith close himself off again.

“You’re wrong about me not liking you, too,” said Keith, somehow even quieter than he was before.

Lance raised his eyebrows. “You— Yeah?”

“I just…” Keith took a deep, sharp breath through his nose. A cold breeze swept through, tugging at the ends of his black hair. He finally lowered his clothes from his chest, dropping his arms and holding the tunic in a tight fist near Lance’s head. The fabric of his gloves strained against his knuckles. “Everything’s too much right now.”

“Maybe it would help,” offered Lance, hopeful in spite of everything else Keith was saying. “If you had a friend to go to, you’d—”

“I appreciate it, Lance,” said Keith, terse, almost a snap, “but no. It wouldn’t help.”

“How do you know?” asked Lance, furrowing his brow. “If you tried—”

“If I tried, it would cause more problems than it fixed.”

Lance clenched his jaw and tightened his hands into fists. It took everything inside of him to resist screaming, ‘Could you let me finish a sentence?!’ right in Keith’s face.

“What problems?” demanded Lance instead.

“Just— _Problems_!”

This time, Keith really did snap, and Lance recoiled.

Keith looked down at him, but only for a second before looking away. That second was more than long enough for Lance to see guilt in his eyes. He genuinely seemed to regret snapping.

But he didn’t give Lance an apology.

And Lance didn’t ask for one.

The silence was deafening. Vaguely, Lance was aware of the wind, of the rustling every time a dead leaf rolled by, but it was all overpowered by the dead air.

And when Keith finally did speak, it was like the rumble of an earthquake.

“Is there a reason you’re afraid of water?”

Lance winced. “I mean, yeah, but why…?”

Keith sighed, closed-mouthed, through his nose. “You asked me a personal question. I asked one back.”

“You didn’t answer it, though,” said Lance.

“You don’t have to answer either,” said Keith.

Lance hesitated, just for a moment, then put on a smile.

“I chased a football into a stream as a kid,” he said, perhaps speaking a little faster than he meant to. “It wasn’t that deep, but the rocks were slick and the current was strong, so I fell in and got carried downstream. Kids scare easy and it stuck with me. End of story.”

That definitely wasn’t the end of the story.

And Lance could tell by the way Keith looked at him again, eyebrows knitted, that he _knew_ it wasn’t the end of the story.

Keith pursed his lips.

Lance waited for the inevitable question.

But what he got wasn’t a question at all.

“...School.”

“Um… What?”

“That’s what the falling out was about,” said Keith succinctly. “School.”

Lance’s jaw dropped. While his mind worked to try to figure out how school could have ruined two close relationships, he missed Keith opening his bag, putting his clothes inside, and reaching for a Yellow Potion.

“You should get out of here,” said Keith, yanking Lance back into the real world. “The sun’s starting to set. Do you have any warp potions?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” said Lance slowly.

“Good,” said Keith. He uncorked his potion and lifted it to his lips.

And Lance’s hand was on his wrist.

Lance wasn’t sure when he stood up, when he’d reached out, or what his plan was. He was just...there.

Keith looked down at Lance’s hand, then at him.

Lance’s eyes darted away. “Uh…” He let go of Keith’s hand quickly. “I just, uh, wanted to say that, you know, if you...change your mind or anything, I go back to the inn every quintant. Uh, at night. And once every four quintants, I have tea with Coran in the mornings, so—”

“I’ll know where to find you,” said Keith. Though there was something sad in his smile, it still somehow managed to hasten Lance’s heartbeat. “But don’t get your hopes up.”

“Oh, I know,” said Lance, stepping away and rubbing the back of his neck. “I was just—”

Keith tilted his potion back and drained its contents.

“...Just saying.”

Lance sighed and let his hand fall against his bag.

“‘Don’t get your hopes up,’” he mocked, reaching into his inventory for a Yellow Potion. “He thinks he’s _so great_ …”

Keith’s laugh echoed across the walls of Lance’s mind, and ever so slightly, his heart clenched.

“...Okay,” Lance mumbled, dropping the flap of his bag, potion in hand. “Maybe he’s a _little_ great.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm...so...sick. Help me. I hope this chapter isn't garbage.
> 
> Um, I just wanted to say two things real quick.  
> One, Kyokurei is awesome for being a neverending ball of kindness and light.  
> And two, VIIIIBS, HANG IN THERE. YOU GOT THIS. I'M CHEERING YOU ON FROM RIGHT HERE.


	22. Raid

“For the last time, Allura, it’s not a date.”

“Which absolutely explains why you’re so worried about looking nice.”

Shiro turned around, gripping the lapels of his blazer nervously, his brow furrowed. “I’m worried about looking nice because we’re talking to investors.”

“Yes, two of them,” teased Allura, leaning forward and curling her hands around her knees. “Who just so happen to be married. And you’re going to a fancy restaurant. With the man you’re desperately in love with.”

“You mean the man I’m developing a game with,” grumbled Shiro, turning back around and looking at himself in the mirror again.

“I _mean_ your business partner who could _also_ be your _romantic_ partner if you stopped worrying so much.” The bed squeaked and Allura’s face appeared over Shiro’s shoulder in the mirror. “Honestly, I don’t know _why_ you’re so worried about it. Look at you. Who could resist that?”

Shiro looked down at his wrists and started fiddling with the cuffs of his blazer. “Plenty of people could, I assure you. Why are you so fixated on me and Matt anyway?”

“Because I know the two of you would make each other happy,” said Allura. The weight of her delicate hands on Shiro’s shoulders was warm, comforting, but her words…

“I think there’s something you’re not accounting for.”

“And what’s that?”

“For a relationship with me to make Matt happy, he’d actually have to be attracted to me.”

“Shiro…” Allura flicked the back of his head. “You are, without a doubt, the blindest man I have ever met.”

“If Matt liked me, he would have said something by now,” said Shiro, lifting his head to look in the mirror again, a hand reaching up to rub the place Allura flicked. “We’ve known each other for years. It would have come up.”

Allura clicked her tongue. “Then what’s _your_ excuse?”

Shiro sighed. “Well, for one thing, I have a beautiful girlfriend and I’m happy with what I have.”

“You haven’t always, though,” said Allura. “We’re a relatively new development. What about before I asked you out?”

“What about right after you asked me out?” countered Shiro. “He helped me get ready for our first date, and he was more than happy to help.”

“Because you’re his best friend,” said Allura firmly. “Of course he’d be happy to help. You were probably as nervous then as you are right now. Do you really think he’d abandon you? Who else would you have gone to? Keith?”

“My point is…” Shiro went back to fiddling with his cufflinks. “He was happy. If he liked me, he wouldn’t have been _that_ happy about me going on a date with someone else. He was excited, he was talkative, he was—”

“He was being a supportive friend,” said Allura. “Do you really think Matt wouldn’t have been able to put aside his feelings for a few minutes to let you be happy?” She reached around Shiro’s waist to grab his hands and separate them from each other. “You asked him to help you, and he did. Helping you isn’t falling apart in your bedroom when you were already nervous. Matt’s too much of a sweetheart to make a night like that about himself, no matter how heartbroken he may have been.”

“He wasn’t heartbroken,” said Shiro.

“Are you sure?” asked Allura, slipping her hands into his.

“Yes,” said Shiro. “He’s my best friend. I would have been able to tell if something was bothering him.”

“Even if you were out of your mind with nerves?” asked Allura. “If you were as nervous then as you are now, do you really think you’d be able to pick up on whatever tiny, little hints Matt may have given that not everything was as it seemed on the surface?”

“Yes,” insisted Shiro. “Being a little nervous isn’t going to keep me from noticing the people I care about.”

“I’m going to take that as ignorance and not a lie,” said Allura, her hands slipping out of Shiro’s again. “Because if that were true, then that would mean you just don’t care about me very much, and I refuse to believe that’s the case.”

“Wh—” Shiro turned around, his already present anxiety doubling. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

Allura bowed her head. Her hands closed into fists at her sides. “There’s...something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

 

* * *

 

Keith took inventory of his wardrobe, brow furrowed. He only needed a few more components for his new Moon Blade. The worst part would be the Diamond Drops. He’d been putting those off for some time. They were always the biggest pain in the butt when Keith was restocking his inventory. Warriors and flying enemies didn’t mix, and Keith wasn’t looking forward to digging through the snow every time he threw his knife at a Ghost Crow.

But if he wanted to survive for even a few minutes in Castle Daibazaal, he needed that Moon Blade every single time.

With a heavy sigh, Keith shoved the drawer at the bottom of his wardrobe shut and stood up. It was time to head north.

Armed and dressed for winter weather, Keith made his way outside, where his dragon sat, curled up on the ground, looking disgruntled.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Keith put a hand on Red’s cheek.

She turned away from his hand with a low, warning growl.

Keith sighed and ran his rejected hand through his hair. She could probably read his dread. But there was no way to express that it was just frustration, not fear, that had Keith so against what he was about to do.

“I know we don’t want to do this, but we have to.”

Red whined and shuffled farther away.

Keith rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll...walk, I guess.”

Red huffed. A puff of smoke rose from her nostrils as she laid her chin on her front feet.

“It’s not anything dangerous,” said Keith. “It’s just an item run.”

Red didn’t budge an inch.

Keith patted her shoulder. “Okay. I won’t force you.”

A moment passed, and Red rolled her yellow eye back to look Keith in the face.

Strange… She seemed nervous.

 

* * *

 

Lance hadn’t been able to get his mind off of the conversation he and Keith had had at Matt’s shrine.

_“You’re wrong about me not liking you. I just… Everything’s too much right now.”_

_“If you tried—”_

_“If I tried, it would cause more problems than it fixed.”_

_“What problems?”_

_“Just— Problems!”_

Lance had a feeling he knew at least part of what those “problems” were.

Whatever Keith was dealing with, he didn’t need to babysit someone forty levels under him on top of it.

So Lance set out to close the gap.

He was still exploring—he was being paid to explore, and he wasn’t going to risk getting on Shiro’s bad side and losing Altea altogether—but whenever he had the chance, he made a point of fighting the creatures in whatever area he was in.

And he kept track of his kills, just in case. He’d learned his lesson from Drazil.

The more days and quintants that passed, the more levels Lance gained. During that time, Lance saw neither hide nor hair of Keith. He did, however, manage to finish a quest with a stronger bow with better durability and more reliable precision. It was also much more comfortable to use, and Lance wasn’t entirely sure whether that was intentional or not.

Another thing Lance had found through his exploration and his desperation to prove himself was a rumor.

Just a rumor, nothing more. But it was a very tempting rumor all the same. A rumor that there was a Mage Mouse somewhere near the village where Lance had died.

The snow crunched under Lance’s boots with every step. It wouldn’t be long before the snow got deep enough to worry about float potions, but when that time came, Lance was ready. He’d gotten in the habit of keeping stocked up on potions, particularly Yendailian Fire Oil, which he never carried fewer than twenty of at any given time. He’d learned a lot about surviving in Altea from Keith, and he’d learned a lot about his own needs from his own experiences. He wasn’t about to get caught off-guard again.

“Fortune favors the prepared,” mumbled Lance, echoing words he’d heard from Hunk on more than one occasion.

But there was only so much potions could prepare for, and as Lance rounded the side of a cliff face, he was swiftly reminded of that.

“What the hell?” he murmured, freezing in place, his gloved hand pressed against the stone mountainside.

The snow was kicked up in piles, leaving divots where dark green grass poked through in the darkness.

Lance furrowed his brow and kneeled by the edge of the largest depression in the snow. It looked like he’d found the aftermath of some sort of animal fight, as if a couple of bull moose had fought tooth and nail over a potential mate in that very spot, but Lance had never seen any wildlife on the mountain. Certainly nothing that big. It was half the reason he’d been avoiding the mountain in the first place—there was no way to get EXP outside of quests.

Maybe a few of the merpeople wandered south and had a brawl of some kind. They were certainly realistic enough to have domestic disputes.

_Or maybe,_ Lance realized, goosebumps crawling up his back, _this was a Galra attack._

He rubbed his arms, chilled by more than the cold, and shook his head. “Just a game,” he mumbled, taking a shaky step through the scene. “ _Just_ a _game._ ” He kicked into one of the piles of snow, trying to clear a path. “It’s not like the Galra can actually _hurt_ anyone. They’re just numbers in a computer. Textures and models and...stuff. They’d probably T-pose if you kicked them the right way.” He packed the snow down under his foot almost violently. “I mean, come on. Really, Lance? You’re afraid of a few pixels? Pull yourself—”

╔═════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｔｈｉｓ ｉｔｅｍ ｉｓ ｓｏｕｌ－ｂｏｎｄｅｄ ａｎｄ ｃａｎｎｏｔ ｂｅ

ｕｓｅｄ ｗｉｔｈｏｕｔ ｔｈｅ ｏｗｎｅｒ＇ｓ ｐｅｒｍｉｓｓｉｏｎ．

╚═════════════════════════════════════════════╝

“...together?”

 

* * *

 

The walk to the mountain took a great deal longer without Red there to carry Keith to the foothills, but Keith made it in time.

He took his first Float Potion early on and focused his attention on the skies. Ghost Crows weren’t very common, and when they did appear, they often blended in with the snow and the clouds.

And it was a good thing that Keith had been paying such close attention to his surroundings, because if he hadn’t he wouldn’t have seen the Galra Warrior on the ledge overhead, and he wouldn’t have had time to reach for his knife. He wouldn’t have had time to deflect the sword that was headed for his face.

The clash of metal on metal rang across the mountainside, echoing off the stone cliff face. Keith’s attacker grinned almost playfully, baring his pointed teeth.

“I’d recommend surrender,” said the soldier, “but you’ve gone against the Emperor himself without fear in your eyes.” He flipped his sword in his hand. “Victory or death. You’d make a fine Galra.”

Keith dropped low and gripped his knife tight in his hand. Showboating would get him nowhere. If he wanted to survive, he’d have to take his opponent out fast.

He darted forward, uppercutting with his knife, intending to disarm.

His opponent seemed to have the same idea. They ran at each other like fire and fire, like lighting rebounding off of lightning. No attack was ever parried. When one fighter landed a hit, the other retaliated instantly. When one fighter was thrown to the snow, they managed to knock the other down with them just as fast. Keith had just been wondering whether it would have been a battle of stamina rather than a battle won by skill when a blow to the back caught him off guard and he found himself thrown to the ground, face-first in the snow.

When Keith tried to stand up, the same force that knocked him down twisted his arm behind his back and pinned him down in the snow.

“ _Sendak—_ ”

“You’re far too hasty, Commander Throk,” said a deep voice, every syllable dripping with smug confidence. “One wrong move and he could have died. We would have had to start all over.”

Keith turned his head sharply, trying to look over his shoulder. All he saw was the tip of a purple ear. “What do you want from me?” he snapped. “If you’re not here to kill me—”

“Haxus, silence him.” Keith could feel his knife being ripped out of his hand. “And give me the rope before he squirms away again.”

 

* * *

 

Lance stared at the cyan alert in front of his face, brow knitted, until it vanished. And despite all of his staring, it made no more sense than the moment it appeared.

“...That’s...probably a glitch.” Lance stepped over the snow he’d just pounded down. “I’ll have to...tell Shiro about that.” He licked his lips. The cold wind bit wherever his tongue touched. “I mean, even if there was something in the snow, how many normal NPCs are going to have soul-bound...bonded...stuff?”

Lance froze, ankle-deep in snow.

He looked over his shoulder, back at the snow pile he’d kicked down.

“...Fine,” he told his conscience in a sour mumble. “I’ll look. Are you happy now?”

He trudged back to the snow pile and began to push through the snow, a task made significantly more difficult thanks to his own decision to pack the snow.

He didn’t like the cold, he didn’t like the Galra, and he definitely didn’t like sticking his hands in the snow to look for signs of a struggle.

But the NPCs seemed to have free will, and if they had free will, that meant they could go off-script and hurt each other. And as much as Lance hated to admit it, he was probably in less danger than anyone else in Arus, even including—

Lance’s hands came into contact with something more solid than packed snow and he pulled it out. The alert from before popped up again, and Lance swatted at it as if it were a fly. It faded out when Lance’s hand came in contact with the borders, letting Lance get a good look at what exactly he was holding.

His brow furrowed. He brushed away the snow. His lips parted and his breath came out in short, visible puffs.

He’d seen this item before, but the last time he touched it, there was no alert. Probably because he’d had permission.

Because Keith gave it to him to use as a mirror.

“Okay,” breathed Lance, clutching the knife’s wrapped handle tight to his chest. “Calm down. It doesn’t have to be Keith’s knife. It’s a knife in a video game. There’s probably an infinite number of these. Yeah, an infinite number. It could be anybody’s. Like...an NPC’s.” Lance groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, an NPC with a soul-bonded weapon. This _exact_ soul-bonded weapon. Sure, _that’s_ likely.” He glared at his reflection in the steely surface. “You know exactly who this belongs to, Lance. You just don’t want to admit it.”

And he didn’t.

He really didn’t.

Mostly because he didn’t know what it meant that he found Keith’s knife and no Keith.

“He didn’t die,” murmured Lance, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “If he died, I’d find everything he had on him _except_ the knife. So the knife being here means…”

Lance made a frustrated sound that landed somewhere between a sigh, and groan, and a scream. He had no _idea_ what that meant.

Was Keith disarmed in some kind of scuffle and couldn’t find the knife in the snow?

Did he leave his knife behind for someone to find? So they would know he was in trouble?

Or did someone capture him? Did he leave the knife behind because he was dragged away from it?

But there were no footprints, nothing leading away from the scene of whatever had taken place.

And Lance couldn’t shake the feeling that the knife, the scrap, it had something to do with whatever problems Keith was facing in the real world.

“You gotta give me more than this, buddy,” whispered Lance, looking down at the knife in his hands. “I can’t help you if I can’t find you.”

“And what makes you think he wants your help?”

Lance’s eyes snapped wide open and he lifted his head just in time to see someone in a dark, skin-tight suit drop down from the ledge above. Instinctively, he lashed out with the weapon in his hand, only for the end of the blade to pass right through his target’s stomach as if it wasn’t there at all.

A reminder Lance was getting really tired of seeing flickered back into view.

“You can’t—”

“—use a soul-bonded item without the owner’s permission, yeah, I got the memo.” Lance pointed at the alert only he could see before swatting it away again. He sent the person who attacked him a sharp glare. “So that explains why I didn’t hit you, but not why you didn’t hit me.” His eyes scanned the person he was talking to, taking a good look for the first time.

The figure was tall. Very tall. They were masked, and they wore a hood, but three purple ‘eyes’ peeked out from the veil of shadow underneath, most likely part of the mask itself.

“I see claws, no webs, and you’re basically twice my height,” said Lance, frowning. “You look all Galra to me. So where’s the sword that should be sticking through my gut right about now?”

“Not every Galra is going to try to kill you,” said the looming figure, squaring their shoulders. “The Blade of Marmora are just as firmly against Daibazaal’s tyranny as you are. But that’s neither here nor there, and we have no time to discuss politics.” Lance swore he felt the Galra’s gaze darken despite the mask that was in the way. “Your friend is on his way to the Merfolk Village as we speak, and not of his own free will.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “How do you _know—_ ”

“The Blade has been tracking the movements of the Galra Empire,” said the figure. “I could use your assistance, but I will not force your hand. It depends on whether or not you are willing to take the risk for the sake of your friend.”

Lance clenched his teeth.

_This is a trap,_ screamed his every instinct. _This is way too convenient, this is fishy as hell, this goes against everything I know about Altea, this is a trap, this is a trap, this is a trap—_

“What do I have to do?”

...Well, maybe not _every_ instinct.

“Open your Hidden Inventory,” said the Galra.

“My what?” asked Lance.

“Do this,” said the Galra, pointing with their index and middle fingers. “And tap your belt or your bag, something easily accessible.”

Lance skeptically mirrored the shape of the Galra’s hand and touched his sash. Two cyan squares popped up in front of his face.

“Why am I just learning about this now?” he screeched. “I’m level 48! What is this?!”

“It’s a hidden feature,” said the Galra. “You get an extra inventory space for every soul-bonded item you have equipped, including your bag. The only thing it protects from is pickpocketing, but better that than nothing. Luxite Blades are extremely valuable. Your friend is going to want his back.”

Lance sighed and put what he’d dubbed The Blade of a Thousand Pop-Ups into one of his two hidden inventory slots. “You better appreciate what I’m doing for you, Keith,” he grumbled.

_If,_ part of him chided nervously, _there’s anyone left to appreciate it._

“Equip your weapon,” said the Galra, turning on their heel. “And follow me. Quickly. Any further questions can be answered while we run. We haven’t got a moment to waste.”

By the time Lance pulled his bow out of his bag, the Galra was already several meters ahead of him, and he had to sprint to catch up. He held his bow in his left hand while he dug through his bag with his right. One of the quests he’d done had yielded not only what Lance had referred to as a “metric buttload” of experience points, but a rare potion that the potion seller had made sure to impart the importance of when Lance had earned it.

_“You won’t find this in any store, and there’s only one creature in all of Altea that drops it, a creature you won’t have the strength to take down for some time, and certainly not alone. Only use it in the case of an undeniable emergency. Do you understand?”_

Lance had gotten the feeling at the time that the potion seller had given it to him with the hopes that he would use it to save Keith’s butt.

“Well,” uttered Lance, looking at his nearly-empty stamina gauge, his right hand wrapped tightly around the neck of a round, green bottle with the silhouette of a bird pressed into the side, “guess he got his wish.”

The Green Ichor tasted like extract of wheatgrass going down, as if he’d just swallowed someone’s entire front yard in one gulp, but the benefits were immediate. His stamina meter glowed bright white for a moment before disappearing. A counter reading ５９：５９ appeared in its place, along with an alert describing the effects of Green Ichor.

Lance didn’t need to read the description. He already knew everything he needed to know.

Unlimited stamina for four vargas. It felt like an eternity, but the timer ticking down in the corner of Lance’s eye reminded him of exactly how limited the buff was. Eventually, it _would_ run out, and there was no bringing the buff back after that.

He just had to make sure Keith was safe and sound before that hour was up.

No pressure.

Lance turned his attention back to the Galra who was leading the way.

“How are you so fast?!” he demanded. “Don’t you have stamina? Is it a Galra thing?”

“I have an item that decreases my stamina use,” said the Galra, sharp and impatient. “Is that really what you should be asking now?”

“No,” admitted Lance, gripping his bow with all the strength in his left hand. “I’m just trying not to freak out about the fact that I’m probably being led to my death!”

“So you _don’t_ trust me,” noted the Galra. “I wondered.”

“Of course I don’t!” snapped Lance. “But if there’s even a chance that I can help Keith, I’m taking it.” He shook his head. “I mean— I owe him, even if it doesn’t make _any_ sense why the Galra would take Keith to the Merfolk Village.”

“They can’t kill him,” said the Galra. “He would only respawn. They would have to imprison him somewhere no one can help him. Fire-related mounts and familiars cannot cross bodies of water, and that includes snow-covered ground, and we have reason to believe that the Merpeople of the mountain have been brainwashed in some way. There’s also the Baku to worry about. That’s a fearsome enough hurdle on its own that no villagers from the capital would dare get anywhere near the mountaintop.”

“The _Baku_?” Lance demanded. “What the _hell_ is a Baku?”

“You don’t want to find out,” said the Galra. “I recommend avoiding the water at all costs.”

“Trust me,” said Lance, “that won’t be a problem.”

“Get down.”

“What?!”

Before Lance could so much as register what was going on, he found himself face-down in a pile of snow.

_Don’t scream,_ he thought desperately, defying what he felt crawling up his throat. _Don’t you dare scream._

Shaking, Lance pushed himself to his elbows, just enough to try to figure out what was happening.

The Galra who had pushed him down was at his side, head lifted, visibly listening for something.

Lance closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, tried to hear whatever it was that the Galra heard.

“...wilier than he looks. Don’t underestimate him.”

“Of course, Sendak.”

The Galra at Lance’s left carefully grabbed his arm and pulled him against a particularly steep part of the mountainside, a clawed finger pressed to the lower side of their mask.

Lance nodded obediently and turned his gaze upward. The voices he’d heard were coming from above him, on a higher level that had been cut into the cliff face somewhere overhead.

“I’ve received Lord Zarkon’s instructions,” said the deeper of the two voices Lance had heard. Sendak. “Apparently, there was a small rebellion, but it has been taken care of. We’ve been cleared to take the Paladin to the village.”

_Paladin?_ Lance knitted his brow. His heart skipped a beat. He’d heard that word before, said in that exact same sneering tone. “ _K—_ ”

The Galra’s hand clapped over his mouth, and before Lance realized he was standing up, he was yanked back down and pulled against the Galra’s chest.

Lance’s hand gripped tighter around his bow. Keith was in trouble, and he had no idea how to help. The chances of successfully climbing up the steep slope he was leaning against were close to nothing. He had no idea how many Galra were there. If Lance knew where they were, he might have been able to fire upward and let the arrow hit the Galra on its way down. He’d done that in games before. But he’d never tried it in Altea, and he didn’t know how that would work in a game so realistic. He wasn’t willing to put Keith at risk because of an assumption.

Lance clenched his teeth. _What do I— Wait._

He held out his hands, and when his PM keyboard popped up, he began to type a message.

_Don’t be stubborn,_ he thought fiercely. _Just this once, let me help you._

 

* * *

 

Keith was seething. He’d never felt more helpless. At least, not in Altea.

His hands were bound, so he couldn’t reach for his bag.

He was Muted, so he couldn’t use what little magic he had.

The only weapon he’d had on hand was lost somewhere in the snow.

And the Galra who had initially attacked him, “Throk,” had a firm grip on his arm that held him in place. There was no running.

And Keith was furious.

“Lord Zarkon still hasn’t returned correspondence?”

“No. Perhaps he’s busy. Not that it matters. I could wait here all night.”

The poison in Sendak’s voice gave Keith goosebumps. Instinct overtook thought for the briefest of moments and Keith felt himself try to break the ropes that kept him tied.

But when Keith pulled, so did Throk. “How many times are you going to try that?” he growled. “It’s getting old, Boy.”

Keith glared at the snow. He could feel his brow twitch. A sharp, heated breath rose out of him, soundless.

“How many times has he tried to pull his arms free?” asked Sendak.

“At least three,” said Throk.

“Check the ropes,” said Sendak. “See that he hasn’t loosened them. He’s wilier than he looks. Don’t underestimate him.”

“Of course, Sendak,” grumbled Throk. He was certainly petulant—Keith supposed he’d wanted whatever glory he would have gotten for capturing a prisoner on his own—but he was still obedient. If Keith had been able to speak, he might have been able to use that pride against Throk somehow, but learning a weakness like that meant nothing if Keith didn’t have his voice.

And even if he could speak, Sendak and Haxus were too close. They would have heard every word.

Something caught Sendak’s attention and he began to interact with a HUD Keith couldn’t see.

“I’ve received Lord Zarkon’s instructions,” he announced. “Apparently, there was a small rebellion, but it has been taken care of. We’ve been cleared to take the _Paladin_ to the village.”

Keith clenched his teeth. _Paladin_. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he’d gotten captured, they just had to add insult to injury.

Keith almost wondered if they were really like that or whether the game had made them that way.

He couldn’t imagine Matt or Shiro creating monsters like that, even in a game, but Keith had never met anyone quite like the Galra outside of Altea.

Before Keith could continue down that depressing train of thought, he was interrupted by a soft ding.

A private message.

Keith furrowed his brow and looked at Sendak and Haxus. They were occupied with Zarkon’s instructions, and Throk was behind him, tugging on Keith’s ropes.

The message had come at the right time. No one was looking. And Keith trusted Shiro well enough to predict how the game’s mechanics would react.

_‘Open messages.’_

The Galra didn’t hear Keith’s voice, but the game itself did. A soft sigh of relief feathered over Keith’s lips. He’d _hoped_ that someone who had lost an arm would have the foresight not to limit accessibility, but there was always a chance…

The only unopened message in Keith’s inbox opened automatically and glowed a faint blue in front of Keith’s face, invisible to everyone but him.

╔═════════════════════════════════════════════╗

ｔｕｒｎ ｕｒ ｇｒｏｕｐ ｏｎ

ｂｔｗ ｆｏｕｎｄ ｕｒ ｋｎｉｆｅ

－－ＴｈｅＴａｉｌｏｒ

╚═════════════════════════════════════════════╝

_Found my—?_

Keith paled. His eyes darted around the area.

Lance.

Of course it was Lance. Who else would it have been? Surely not someone who could help in a fight.

But he had the Luxite Blade.

Even if he only survived for a few seconds, even if he died seconds after he showed up, he’d still drop the blade. There was even a chance he’d be able to untie Keith before he got sent back to Arus.

As much as Keith hated the idea of setting Lance up to be slaughtered, he hated the idea of letting Altea die even more.

And Lance knew what he was getting into. He’d been killed by a Galra soldier in the past. He had to know he was about to die again, and he was still offering to help.

There was no time to deliberate.

_‘Group on.’_

 

* * *

 

╔═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｗｏｕｌｄ ｙｏｕ ｌｉｋｅ ｔｏ ａｄｄ ｔｈｉｓ ｕｓｅｒ ｔｏ ｙｏｕｒ ｇｒｏｕｐ？

▶ＹＥＳ◀

ＮＯ

╚═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

Lance pumped his fist in silent victory and selected the _YES_ option with his finger. His group menu popped up automatically and he tapped Keith’s name. A drop-down list appeared with a list of character attributes ranging from Ｌｅｖｅｌ to Ｓｔａｔｕｓ Ｅｆｆｅｃｔ.

One of the options was Ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ.

Lance selected it.

A red, glowing arrow appeared beside Keith’s name. It pointed up the slope of the mountain. It was simple, admittedly. It only accounted for direction, not distance. But when Lance couldn’t actually see Keith, he was grateful for any help he could get.

Lance nudged the Galra he’d been following and looked them in their odd, purple, glowing mask eyes.

The Galra shrugged.

Lance pointed to himself, pointed upward, made an upward motion with his thumb, and then lifted his bow.

The Galra bowed their head, seemed to think for a moment, then met Lance’s eyes and nodded. Carefully, as silently as possible, they began to creep through the snow, hugging the mountainside as closely as possible.

They gestured for Lance to follow.

Lance did.

 

* * *

 

Keith couldn’t help noticing that Lance hadn’t shown up yet.

He’d fully expected Lance to run in guns blazing the moment they were grouped together, but that never happened.

It was bizarre.

They had to be close enough for the group prompt to show up automatically once they were both available to group, but the Galra hadn’t noticed Lance yet. Neither had Keith, and he’d known to be listening.

But there was nothing. Not the slightest crunch or rustle.

“You seem jittery, Paladin,” said Throk, sneering, his shark-like teeth glinting in the early morning light. “Almost nervous.”

Keith turned his face away. He _was_ nervous. But that had nothing to do with being captured.

He was nervous because he didn’t know what Lance was up to.

The idea that Lance had chickened out crossed his mind, but if that had been what happened, it felt like he would have left the group. If Lance was waiting for the opportune moment, Keith somehow doubted that would be at the Merfolk Village, where dozens of Galra awaited them.

Whatever Lance had planned, he needed to do it fast. At least, if he was planning on actually helping.

The Merfolk Village was bowl-shaped, cut into the northern side of the mountain like an inground pool. In fact, there was a fairly thick layer of ice between the buildings and the earth beneath them, so in a sense, it was a pool of sorts, albeit a frozen one.

Pools were supposed to be relaxing, though, and the Merfolk Village was anything but. The high walls and thick evergreen trees made Keith nervous. It was difficult to see the top of the barrier and too easy to be spotted, too easy to be lured into an ambush or shot down by an archer or followed back home.

The sun was rising, and Keith couldn’t even see that. All he could see was the faintest pink of morning light spreading across the clouds.

Sendak slowed to a stop at the village entrance. A pale merperson with long, pink, hair-like fins approached their small party, flanked by Galra Golems.

Keith realized at once what must have happened, and he hated himself for it.

There weren’t many places in Arus where Keith didn’t go. Underwater areas, places that couldn’t be reached without the use of ranged weapon or certain spells… Most were too inconvenient for the Galra to want to go.

But the Merfolk Village? The only reason Keith didn’t go there was that he didn’t think it would be smart.

And he was right. He saw that now. But it wasn’t for the reasons he’d been afraid of.

He’d left the merpeople vulnerable. The Galra had taken over their village.

And Keith had let it happen.

He glared hard at the snow beneath his feet. He deserved what was happening to him.

Throk’s hand squeezed his arm. His claws pressed into Keith’s unprotected arms. “Do you like what we’ve done with the place?” asked Throk in a low voice, one the mermaid who was signing with Sendak wouldn’t have been able to understand above water. “ _We_ certainly do. It’s handy having a home away from home, a place where we can monitor the people you had chosen to protect. Not that you’ll be able to do much protecting from the bottom of Lovers’ Lake.”

Keith squeezed his eyes shut. Lovers’ Lake was supposed to be safe, someplace without enemies, where PVP was banned. Matt and Shiro had wanted to make it a place for Valentine’s Day events.

_Figures the Galra Empire would find a way to turn something like that into a weapon._

“Once you’re out of the picture, there won’t be anyone left to protect Altea,” said Throk. “Everything you’ve been working toward will mean nothing. We _will_ have—”

There was a thunk. An odd thunk, a sharp thunk. Like the sound of someone being struck by a reed.

Throk fell silent.

Keith warily opened his eyes and lifted his head.

The origin of the sound was immediately clear.

There was an arrow sticking out of the side of Sendak’s neck.

Keith’s breath caught in his throat. He watched, frozen in horror, as Sendak traced the fingertips of his natural hand down the arrow from the fletching to the point where the shaft met his neck, where he snapped it like a toothpick.

He turned his head slowly, mechanically, holding the shaft of the arrow in place. It wasn’t until he was facing the exact direction the fletching seemed to point that Keith realized what he was doing.

He was pinpointing which of the trees the arrow had come from.

“Haxus,” growled Sendak.

“Yes, Commander.”

Haxus began to run toward the slope.

Keith’s heart skipped a beat. He elbowed Throk’s side with as much leverage as he could muster, hoping to shake him off, but between how close he was and the armor he was wearing, Throk didn’t suffer so much as a bruise.

“Don’t try it,” he snarled, holding on tighter and shoving his face close. His breath smelled like cactus rot. “You are _not_ the hero you idealize yourself to be, and you will _not_ —”

Throk froze.

Keith’s eyes widened. He had to tilt his head back to see what had happened.

There was an arrow directly in the center of his forehead.

_‘Holy shit,’_ mouthed Keith, having briefly forgotten that he couldn’t speak.

That could have easily hit him.

But it didn’t.

If that really was Lance up there, he was one hell of a shot.

Two more arrows joined the first and Throk vanished in a puff of dark purple smoke.

Keith whipped around, desperately searching for Haxus despite the fact that his hands were still tied.

He spotted red and black armor just before it disappeared into the trees.

Teeth clenched, Keith began to give chase, only to be struck from behind and thrown to the ground.

When he rolled onto his back, he found Sendak looming over him, his red and white prosthetic hand clenched into an angry fist.

“You are not getting away that easily.”

Keith barely had time to gasp.

Then the white snow that covered the mountain village was replaced by darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the long wait, guys. Since the last update, I was sick twice, got in a minor car accident, and had family stuff [and not the good kind] because of American Thanksgiving. It has been quite the month. I hope the longer-than-usual update makes up for it.
> 
> Fun fact, I originally had more planned for this chapter, but the transition from the end of this chapter to the beginning of the next chapter just didn't feel right without a chapter break in-between, so...you'll just have to wait on the rest of the angst until next time.
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Americans. I hope yours is better than mine was.


	23. Boss

Matt checked his phone for what must have been the eighth time.

He was still early enough, but he’d thought Shiro would have shown up much earlier than he had. He always showed up early when he was nervous about something, and Matt _knew_ Shiro had been nervous about the dinner. Matt had only shown up early to save Shiro the awkwardness of sitting with their potential sponsors alone.

Instead, Matt had been the one in the awkward situation when he’d had to tell the other half of their reservation to go ahead and take their seats, that he’d be with them as soon as his partner arrived.

And Shiro still hadn’t shown up.

Matt probably looked like quite the sight, dressed to the nines, perched on the railing that separated the restaurant from the parking lot, his foot tapping anxiously on the metal bar beneath the one he was sitting on, one hand holding his phone, the other carding his tie between his index and middle fingers.

He knew exactly how he looked.

He looked like someone who got stood up.

Which only served to make him feel more nervous. Because even though he’d told himself sternly over and over again that the dinner was strictly business, that there was nothing romantic about it, that it absolutely wasn’t a date, there was no denying what his heart was doing while he was getting all dressed up to go to a relatively private dinner with Takashi Shirogane.

With Shiro.

And as much as he should have been worried about Shiro running late to a business meeting, that he could have been about to lose some much-needed funding, all his twisting gut seemed to want to focus on was the fact that Shiro hadn’t shown up for their date.

The date that wasn’t actually happening.

It was frustrating and embarrassing and…

...and Matt wasn’t sure when he’d opened his dad’s contact information on his phone.

He’d meant to text Shiro, to ask if he was on his way, but that wasn’t the name his thumb was hovering over.

Matt stared into the letters on his phone as if he were trying to scry an answer out of the letters and numbers that made up the name _Dadbot 9000._

If anyone could pick up the other end, he probably would have called for advice. Business advice. Romantic advice. Maybe just emotional support.

His hand wrapped tighter around the phone.

His dad would have known exactly what to say. Exactly. Whether the advice was “Embrace those feelings and use that nervousness to your advantage” or “Take a deep breath and tell yourself that Shiro’s just your business partner right now, no matter how good he looks in a suit.”

And judging by what Matt saw over the top of his phone, Shiro looked _very_ good in a suit.

Matt’s heart leapt into his throat and he hastily locked his phone and put it in his pocket. He jumped down from the railing, his eyes glued to Shiro as he jogged closer, particularly pale and anxious, a sketchbook tucked under his arm.

“I’m _so_ sorry,” said Shiro quickly. “I was just— Something came up, and— Matt, I— I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Matt. “I mean, you’re cutting it a little close, but you’re still on time.” He reached up, not entirely sure what he was planning on doing with his hand. Maybe punching Shiro’s arm playfully. Maybe squeezing it to reassure him. But without a goal in mind, his hand just fell against his side again. “You look…good. Really good.”

Shiro smiled a crooked smile. “Well, so do you.”

“Your hair’s kind of a mess, though,” said Matt, smiling, one eyebrow raised.

Shiro winced and reached for his bangs. “It is?”

“It’s probably from running over here,” said Matt, reaching for the inner pocket of his jacket. “Luckily, I have a solution for that right here.” He pulled a small, flat comb free, brandishing it like a wand.

Shiro raised his eyebrows for a split second, then smiled in a way that made Matt feel as though his legs were going to give out from under him. “Why is it that you always seem to have the answer to everything? You’re like a soccer mom.”

Matt laughed. If Shiro only knew how much of a mess he’d been just a few seconds prior. “Fortune favors the prepared, Shiro. Now hold still.”

Matt stood on his tiptoes to be able to get a better look at Shiro’s hair. One of their patron-hopefuls was taller than Shiro, so Matt needed to be sure that it looked as good from above as it did from below.

When Matt stood straighter, however, Shiro tilted his face up, completely defeating the purpose of Matt standing on his tiptoes in the first place.

Matt rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. “I said _still,_ you nerd,” he chided gently, a soft laugh lilting his words. He reached for Shiro’s chin and gently tipped it back down so he could get a proper look at his hair.

During the few seconds Matt took to tidy Shiro’s hair, the only sound he heard was Shiro’s breathing. Not a word was said. Matt lowered the comb and swept Shiro’s bangs to the side so that they ever so slightly favored the right side of his face and he smiled, satisfied.

Then Matt noticed Shiro’s expression, and a few millimeters were shaved off the corners of his smile.

“You look as nervous as I feel,” he said, his heels hitting the concrete path once more. “Your face matches your name. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this pale.”

“You’re nervous?” asked Shiro, pinching his eyebrows. “You don’t _look_ nervous.”

“Yeah, well…” Matt smirked and reached up to smooth out the point between Shiro’s eyebrows with his thumb. “Maybe that’s just because _you’re_ too nervous to tell right now.”

“I—” Shiro started to say something, but cut himself short and averted his eyes, a small frown on his lips.

Matt dropped both of his hands from Shiro’s face and slipped his comb back into his pocket. “Okay, I’m gonna ask you to do something kind of weird, and you’re just going to have to trust me instead of asking me questions because we don’t have time for that. Sound good?”

“I… Yes?” said Shiro, who looked no less nervous.

“Okay,” said Matt. “Put your hands on your hips.”

Shiro, though clearly uncertain, did as he was told, one hand curled awkwardly to account for his sketchbook.

Matt put his hands on his hips as well, mirroring Shiro’s pose. “Now square your shoulders and puff your chest out.”

Shiro furrowed his brow and puffed out his chest, if one could call it that. It was certainly lackluster.

“Is that all you got?” asked Matt, puffing his own chest out as much as possible. “Come on. I know you can do better than that. I’m talking a real superhero pose here. Give me your best Captain America.”

Shiro set his jaw, and this time, when he puffed out his chest, he really meant it.

“Now take a deep breath.”

Shiro did.

“And exhale.”

Matt swore he saw the tension in Shiro’s face float away like a cloud.

Not all of it, but half was still good.

“Better?” asked Matt.

“Yeah, actually,” admitted Shiro, dropping his arms to his sides once more. “Where did you learn that?”

Matt opened his mouth to answer before he remembered what the answer was, and when he realized what the answer was, he couldn’t help but smile.

Though Matt hadn’t been able to call, it seemed like he’d still gotten the answer he needed.

“My dad.” His smile widened. “He used to tell me that nothing was ever as scary as anyone makes it out to be, that if you get too worried about what could go wrong, you might miss a chance to do something great.” Matt moved closer to Shiro and nudged his arm with a playful elbow. “So let’s go do something great, okay?”

Though Shiro still looked nervous, the smile on his face seemed genuine. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

If Matt had been hoping that the meeting would feel less romantic and intimate once he was inside the restaurant, the lighting alone would have been enough to shoot that hope down.

It was like stepping into an enchanted forest. As if whoever had decorated the restaurant’s interior hadn’t so much as heard of white light, every single light in the restaurant was a cool color, some shade of blue or green or purple. And they were dim. In fact, despite the fact that there were overhead lights that glowed an elegant, royal purple, the main source of light in the restaurant came from two long, extended fish tanks that stretched along the walls on the east and west walls.

Being led through the aisles between tables by the host felt more like following a fairy into a garden.

And if that were the case, the king and queen of the fairies had to be the two proud, elegant scientists that waited for them in a secluded booth in the farthest corner.

“Shirogane. It’s about time you arrived.” The larger of the two scientists, the one sitting closest to the aisle, stepped out from the booth and offered Shiro a hand in greeting. “We were just discussing whether to take matters into our own hands and drag Holt inside whether he wanted to come in or not.”

Shiro winced, but took the hand offered to him. “I’m really sorry about that. Something came up at home.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. He’d been so relieved that Shiro had shown up that he hadn’t even given any thought to what could have held him up in the first place.

_Well, don’t I just feel like the best friend in the world? He could have gotten in a car crash for all I knew, but I was too distracted by the stupid dinner to even think—_

“These things happen.” The deep voice of their sponsor-to-be was quick to pull Matt back on track. “As long as you’re here now, there’s nothing to worry about. Good to see the two of you, by the way. It feels like an eternity since you were in my class.”

“A year and a half _is_ an eternity,” insisted Matt, sidling closer to Shiro.

“We’ll see how you feel about those words in a few years,” said the professor.

He gestured to the booth, where his wife still sat, most likely because her husband was blocking the way. One of her fingers hovered just over the glass of the fish tank. A black goldfish stared intently at her fingertip from the other side. She smiled warmly at Matt and Shiro, her golden honey eyes twinkling eagerly. She seemed excited. Good.

“I don’t believe you’ve met,” said Professor Sincline. “Allow me to introduce you. This my wife, Honerva.”

 

* * *

 

“That will be the best place for you,” said the Galra, pointing to the top of the slope. “You can hide among the trees. You will be able to see them, but they won’t be able to see you quite so easily.” They dropped their arm back to their side and met Lance’s eyes once more. “We’ll still be at a disadvantage. The Merfolk Village is probably full of Galra Golems, animated suits of armor with animalistic intelligence. They should be easy enough to take out from a distance—at your current level, you’ll most likely be able to take them out with a single well-placed arrow—but there will be dozens of them, perhaps more.”

Lance put a hand on his hip. “Okay, so it’s just me against a small army of robots. Fun. Super fun.” He narrowed his eyes. “Where are you gonna be during all this?”

“Infiltrating,” said the Galra. “Uncovering as much information as I can and attacking any weak points if possible.” They turned around. “I would ask for cover fire, and if you can lend it, I would appreciate it, but I know where your mind is now. Focus on saving your friend for now. Let me handle the diplomatic side of things.”

“Diplomatic,” deadpanned Lance. “In other words, assassination.”

“Something like that,” said the Galra. “More importantly, this is where I leave you.” They looked over their shoulder. “Don’t let him down, all right? He needs you.”

Without a further word, the Galra disappeared, and Lance turned around to begin his hike up the slope.

By the time Lance was at the top, he already saw a few dots he was fairly certain were the Galra who had captured Keith appearing in the distance.

Lance quickly climbed into an evergreen tree, as high as he could go without worrying that the limbs would snap under his weight. By the time he’d reached a height he was comfortable with, the Galra had stopped directly in his line of sight. Even through the pine needles, there was no mistaking the black-cloaked human among the Galra.

He could see Keith, and he could see the Galra who had Keith by the arm, but he couldn’t get a good shot on that Galra, not with the way he was bent down, apparently whispering something into Keith’s ear.

Their leader, though… The big, bat-eared Galra who had killed Lance the last time he’d visited the Merfolk Village… He was completely defenseless. He wasn’t even wearing a helmet.

Lance reached for his bow and took aim. An arrow appeared in his hand the second he reached for the bowstring. He drew the string back until his thumb was close enough to graze his jaw.

He aimed for the leading Galra’s neck.

He took a deep breath.

And he fired.

The arrow hit its mark, a perfect bullseye right to the jugular, and the Galra…

...He barely even noticed.

He reached up slowly, like a horror movie villain, and ran his fingertips along the arrow, almost caressing it. Then all manner of gentility was thrown out the window as the Galra snapped the arrow in half and looked Lance right in the eye.

His gaze seemed to pierce through the branches and the needles, seemed completely unbound by the laws of matter, digital or otherwise, and seemed to pierce Lance’s very brain.

_Oh, quiznak._

All hell broke loose.

One of the two smaller Galra, the one that wasn’t holding Keith back, began to run toward the slope Lance had walked up to get to where he was, the robot-like suits of armor the hooded Galra had warned Lance about began to pour out of the buildings in the village like angry wasps from their hives, and Keith… Keith began to fight against his captor, unknowingly giving Lance a better shot. Not much of one, but better all the same.

Lance’s eyes darted from the Galra headed his way to the armor soldiers to Keith, then back to the Galra that was getting dangerously close to the edge of Lance’s line of sight.

Then back to Keith.

“...Screw it.”

He raised his bow and aimed for the center of the pointy Galra’s forehead. If he aimed just a little too low, if there was a sudden gust of wind, if he underestimated the arc of the arrow’s path, he could wind up killing Keith instead.

_Then Keith would just spawn back home. His equipment is replaceable. He isn’t._

Lance fired his arrow.

It could not have landed more perfectly in the center of the Galra’s brow.

“Come on!” hissed Lance in a sharp whisper, nocking another arrow. “That was a headshot! That should have killed him straight up! But _no…_ ”

He fired another arrow.

And another.

And that was the end of that Galra. He vanished in a puff of smoke just like any other enemy.

Keith turned around and began to run. The Galra headed for Lance had long-since disappeared from view, and that realization made Lance very, very nervous. But not nervous enough to stop him from protecting Keith.

Any suit of armor that got anywhere near Keith was taken down with a single shot. The hooded Galra had been right; they were weak, but there were a lot of them.

A _lot_ of them.

Lance fired off arrow after arrow after arrow, and armor after armor after armor was killed. Lance leveled up, and it startled him so much that he nearly fell out of the tree he was perched in, but he never stopped firing for longer than it took him to nock his next arrow.

He was so wrapped up in shooting the suits of armor that he didn’t notice the real danger until it was too late. But it’s hard to miss a gigantic red arm shooting across a field of snow and pinning someone to the ground.

“Keith!” Lance jumped out of his tree without thinking. Without the snow to cushion his fall, he would have taken a great deal of damage, but with it, Lance took an unpleasant chill that froze his very mind.

 _No,_ he told himself. _The Galra are more dangerous. Move. Move. Move._

He moved.

He ran to the lip of the bowl and began to slide down the side. It was steep, too steep to climb up, but just gradual enough that he could descend without taking fall damage. Snow flew up from his feet as he shot down the wall like a bullet down the barrel of a gun. It attacked his face with wet splatters, but Lance refused to let himself be slowed down. He could see Keith at the bottom, unconscious, a limp figure the bat-eared Galra was throwing over his shoulder like a bag of sand.

The snow was part of the game.

But whatever was going on at the bottom? There was no way that was scripted.

The slope evened out and Lance replaced sliding with running. The effects of his Float Potion had long-since run their course and every step Lance took landed him knee-deep in white and wet and cold, but he refused to stop running.

He wasn’t sure what his plan was.

Honestly, he didn’t have one.

But he’d tackle the Galra to the ground if he had to.

He’d tackle him down and carry Keith to safety with his own two arms.

The metal Golems were closing in.

The Galra was sneering, as if challenging Lance to come closer.

Lance accepted that challenge.

He wasn’t going to lose Keith.

Not that day.

Not ever.

He grabbed the lower limb of his bow with both hands and reeled it back, wielding it like a baseball bat. An angry, primal scream tore out of his throat.

And without warning, he found himself face-down in the snow.

Everything was dark.

“Excellent work, Haxus,” said the bat-eared Galra. “Quite the masterful use of a Sleep Circle. What do you suppose he was about to do with that bow?”

“Something desperate,” said a voice behind Lance. A hand picked him up by the back of his collar. He couldn’t move. “I do believe we have a player on our hands.”

“A player?” echoed the first Galra. “That does explain why I’ve seen him before. He could become a problem.”

“What do we do about him?” asked the second, Haxus.

“Contact Lord Zarkon,” said the first Galra. “Until we get a response, simply bind his hands and put him on the boat with the Paladin. Keep his model in our sights until our plan is carried out.”

“And if he logs off?”

“Let him. We should be finished by the time he despawns.”

Like Keith, Lance felt himself unceremoniously thrown over a shoulder and carried. He heard voices speaking in soldier tones. Merpeople. Soldiers. Sailors. Galra. But hearing was all Lance could do. He couldn’t move, couldn’t see… Couldn’t do anything at all but listen.

“The boat is ready for you, Sirs.”

“Who’s the second boy?”

“None of your concern.”

“Yes, Sir. My apologies.”

“Good to see you again, Commander Throk. How is your Undead status treating you?”

“It’s going to treat me a lot better when we throw these _brats_ in the water.”

Lance’s heart pounded in his ears.

He had to get away.

He had to get away fast.

_Okay, masked Galra pal, I could really use your help right about now._

The crunching of snow underfoot was abruptly replaced by the sound of boots on hollow wood, and a moment later, Lance was thrown to the floor of someplace that echoed when he hit the planks. A second thunk followed his own just a moment later. Keith, no doubt.

“Throk, if you would kindly refresh the Paladin’s sleeping spell?” asked Haxus while he was tying Lance’s wrists together. “He’s been under for quite a while. Wouldn’t want him to wake up before we’re finished with our preparations.”

“What of the _other_ boy?”

“Leave him. He’s not worth the mana.”

Lance wanted nothing more than to stand up and punch Haxus in his ugly purple face for that comment, but even if he wasn’t dealing with some sort of Sleep status effect, he was still tied up. Even his ankles had been tied before he’d been left alone.

Still, the Galra were underestimating him. That much was clear.

And the second Lance thought of an escape plan, he was going to make them regret that.

It was a matter of minutes before Lance’s status effect wore off and he could sit up. He immediately began to tug at the ropes around his wrists. He twisted and squirmed and tried to make his hands as long and thin as possible, but they wouldn’t budge. The Galra had him tied _tight_. He wasn’t going to be able to brute force his way out. He’d have to think.

 _Okay,_ thought Lance, taking his first real look around the room. _What are my resources?_

The answer was...not much.

The room was dark, completely unlit, save for the slightest sliver of light that seeped in from under the door. If Lance had to guess, he’d say the boat they were in wasn’t that large. Otherwise, they’d probably be in a proper brig, not in some tiny, windowless room.

Good news, that most likely meant that the door was unlocked. Lance doubted the room they were in was meant to hold prisoners.

Bad news, there was no way there wasn’t a guard on the other side of that door. They’d have to be ready for a fight.

In the low light, Lance could see Keith lying on his stomach, his face turned toward the door. There was no doubt in Lance’s mind that he was out cold, but all the same, he tilted his head and pressed his ear to his shoulder.

“ _Open Group Menu._ ” The menu opened. “ _View Status Effects._ ” The little red arrow pointing toward Keith quickly replaced itself with three blue Zs in descending size.

“Yeah, I figured,” mumbled Lance, but before he could add anything to that, the three Zs cross-faded to another symbol, this one a gray smiley face with an X where the mouth should have been.

Lance rolled his eyes. “That’s just great. Thanks, Galra. Really helpful.”

He sighed and kept looking around the room. An odd sliding sound hit Lance’s ear, and with a sudden horror, he realized that he and Keith weren’t the only people in the room. There were three others, shadows pressed as far from the door as they could get. But they didn’t seem hostile. They seemed oddly...dejected. Defeated.

“ _Oh._ ” Lance raised his eyebrows. “You guys are probably the rebels the Galra were talking about, right?”

The rebels shifted, but didn’t answer. Maybe they were silenced as well.

Lance sighed. “Well, I’m going to get us out of here, okay? Don’t worry.”

Despite what Lance said, there was nothing else of note in the room.

The walls were all solid, flat wood. There wasn’t even any piping. It was just a wooden box.

He had his bag, but that did him little good with his hands tied.

With a stab of frustration, he realized that his bow was probably near the village entrance, where he’d been captured. That didn’t do him much good, either. He was totally unarmed.

“Hey, wait a sec…”

Lance twisted his hand around and tapped his belt with two fingers.

Keith’s knife appeared in his hand.

“Score!” whispered Lance, gripping the handle tight. “Now, if I can just…”

He flipped the knife in his hand, pointed the blade up at the ropes, pressed the tip awkwardly against the fibers, and—

╔═════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｔｈｉｓ ｉｔｅｍ ｉｓ ｓｏｕｌ－ｂｏｎｄｅｄ ａｎｄ ｃａｎｎｏｔ ｂｅ

ｕｓｅｄ ｗｉｔｈｏｕｔ ｔｈｅ ｏｗｎｅｒ＇ｓ ｐｅｒｍｉｓｓｉｏｎ．

╚═════════════════════════════════════════════╝

Lance groaned and threw his head back. “Augh, you’ve got to be _kidding me_.”

He narrowed his eyes, pursed his lips, and looked at Keith’s prone body lying not too far away.

He couldn’t use a soul-bonded item without the owner’s permission, but the owner was right there.

Unconscious, silenced, but still, right there.

If Lance could just wake him up…

“Okay, pal,” said Lance, half-grunting as he squirmed his way to where Keith lied. “Wakey-wakey time.”

 

* * *

 

“Buddy.”

_Thump._

“My man.”

_Thump._

“ _Asere._ ”

_Thump._

“Come on, man! I really need you to wake up here! Those Galra guys could come back any minute!”

Keith furrowed his brow. _Galra?_ He vaguely registered that he was lying on his stomach and he tried to push himself up, but he found that he couldn’t move his arms. Slowly, he rolled onto his side. He groaned, but no sound came out.

“Oh, thank God!” There was another thump and Keith warily opened his eyes. It was dark, but he could easily make out a familiar, angular face by the floor, just a few inches from his own.

 _Lance_.

Keith couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed. He just felt tired. He furrowed his brow and curled in on himself, seeking comfort from whatever it was he was waking up to.

“No time for that, Buddy,” said Lance. Some part of him bumped into the top of Keith’s head. Keith’s brain was so foggy that he couldn’t even register _which_ part of Lance had just run into him. Honestly, he didn’t care, either. He just wanted to world to stop tilting back and forth the way it was.

“Listen, Keith, I need you to let me use your knife.”

 _‘Knife?’_ Keith tried to say. Again, no sound came out. _‘I don’t have my knife—’_

He didn’t. He didn’t have his knife. It was left on the side of a mountain when he was attacked.

And then Lance showed up.

He remembered. It had taken him a while, but he remembered Lance’s group request, he remembered the arrows, he remembered Haxus running toward the source of the arrows that had taken Throk out right before Keith’s eyes.

Lance must have gotten captured, too. He _had_ been pretty reckless and stupid, but…

Man. He’d taken a Galra general out with three hits. That was pretty impressive. Keith couldn’t deny that.

After the briefest hesitation, Keith looked at Lance through the darkness and nodded.

“Perfect!” hissed Lance in an excited whisper-scream. There was a snap, and the hands he’d been keeping behind his back appeared.

One of them was holding Keith’s knife.

Lance reached down to his feet and used the knife on ropes Keith hadn’t noticed before, ones around his ankles. The ropes were cut almost instantly, like yarn under a pair of scissors.

The second Lance was free, he rushed behind Keith, half-crouched, and bent down to cut him free as well.

Keith’s arms flopped to the wooden planks like wet clothes thrown on a shower floor. They felt heavy. Lance had managed to wake Keith up, but the sleeping spell Sendak had used on him was clearly still in effect, like a drug that was still in his system. He could fall back asleep any second.

“Here,” said Lance. He grabbed Keith’s hand and pressed a glass bottle to his palm. It was too dark to tell what the bottle contained. “You’re gonna need this.”

Keith frowned, but he trusted Lance at least enough to know that he wouldn’t poison him.

He uncorked the bottle.

The bottle’s contents tasted like pure chocolate sauce at first, sticky and much too strong with a bittersweet aftertaste, and when it warmed inside his mouth, the flavor abruptly changed to incredibly strong peppermint, as if someone had melted down an entire tin of Altoids. Keith coughed and clapped a hand over his mouth. “What the hell—!”

His eyes widened.

He could talk.

Not only that, but his head was cleared.

“A gift from Coran,” said Lance from somewhere behind Keith. “Unilu Moon Syrup.”

“Unilu what?” Keith turned around and slowly climbed to his feet. He found Lance bent over a tentacle-armed merman, one hand on the ropes binding his scaled feet.

Lance laughed quietly. “Huh. Something else I know that you don’t.” He cut the merman’s feet free. “It’s kind of like an instant drink mix.” Lance moved on to the next merperson, a woman with blue-spotted arms and gold bangles. “Diluted in warm water, it just tastes like peppermint tea. On its own, though, it’s a cure for all status ailments. Pretty cool, right? I bet it tasted like candy.”

“Like candy and death, maybe,” grumbled Keith. “Lance, who are these people?”

“Rebels,” said Lance, cutting the mermaid’s arms free. “Uh, I think. I tried to talk to them earlier, but they didn’t say anything.”

“They…” Keith furrowed his brow. “Merpeople can’t hear or speak above water— Well, I mean, they can, but it sounds like— Hold on, you don’t know who they are, but you’re trusting them?”

“One of the Galra creeps who kidnapped you said something about rebels.” Lance cut the ropes on the woman’s ankles. “Why else would they be tied up with us? Besides…” He moved on to the last merperson, a woman with long, blue, pigtail-like fins draped over her shoulders. “We could use some allies if we’re going to escape, right?”

“Escape?” Keith set Lance’s bottle in the bag at his hip. “Do you have a plan?”

“Uhh… Not much of one.” Lance finished cutting the last of the merpeople free and helped her to her feet before turning around. “I don’t think I know enough about what’s going on outside this room.” He walked back to Keith and offered the knife, handle out. “I have a plan for how to get outside, but getting back to shore is going to be a problem. I don’t even know how many Galra we’re dealing with.”

Keith took his knife back and inspected it. “...I guess we’ll just have to wing it.”

Lance stroked his chin in thought. “Don’t you mean...fin it?” he asked, a smirk curling his lips. “You know, ‘cause of the merpeople? Fins—”

“I get it,” sighed Keith, pressing a hand to his face.

It occurred to him that, if they wound up getting out of this mess, he’d owe his life to the biggest nerd he’d ever met.

Even bigger than Matt Holt.

And he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

 

* * *

 

Letting the merpeople in on the plan was easier than Lance thought it would be. All it took was a quick game of charades in the dark...and then Keith rolling his eyes, stepping in as translator, and signing a clearer explanation to the merpeople.

The merpeople grinned in acknowledgment and went about their tasks, gathering the ropes that had been used to tie them up and fashioning makeshift slings with cloth cut from Lance’s sash.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” asked Keith, raising his eyebrow as he tugged the end of the sash.

“Pfft.” Lance rolled his eyes. “I’m not _that_ vain, Keith. I think I can sacrifice some of my aesthetic to save people.”

“What happened to ‘It’s just a game’?” asked Keith, drawing his knife.

“It is,” said Lance, “but you’re not. And clearly there’s something going on that makes the game dangerous for you somehow, and it looks like the Galra are in on it.”

“I never said any of that,” said Keith, slicing a strip off the end of the sash and holding it out for the tentacled merman—Blumfump, according to Keith—to take.

“I’m not that stupid,” said Lance. “Somehow, Altea is legitimately dangerous for you, and as long as I can, I’m not letting you face that danger by yourself.”

Keith’s hands froze partway through cutting a second strip. He didn’t say anything, didn’t look up, but his hands were still, just for a second. And then they resumed cutting, as if Lance hadn’t said anything at all.

Once the merpeople were armed, all five of their unlikely party sidled against the wall closest to the door and waited for it to open.

“Are we sure this is going to work?”

“It’s _your plan._ ”

“Oh, no, I know, it’s just, like, what if they decide to just sink the boat with us in it or something? Maybe we should be trying to break down the door.”

“They wouldn’t sink the boat. It’s too risky. They’re going to make sure they _see_ us sink to the bottom.”

“That’s what you said about Yellow Potions, that the Galra would have thought about that because they don’t take risks, but we never actually _tried_ —”

“Quiet!”

Lance closed his mouth.

He waited, squinting through the darkness, listening for whatever Keith had heard first.

And he heard them. Footsteps. Right on the other side of the door.

They stopped.

Lance gripped the rope in his hands tight.

The door opened, and blinding light flooded into the room.

The Galra uttered a low, confused, “Huh?”

He took one step inside.

“Now!”

Lance yanked the rope back. So did everyone else.

The Galra, in mid-step, tripped and landed face-first on the floor. He tried to turn around, but Swirn was already on him, using what rope wasn’t used for their weapons to tie their adversary’s hands behind his back, just like he’d done to them.

Keith jumped over the foot soldier’s legs like they were a hurdle on a track and ran through the open door, knife drawn and ready to fight. Plaxum and Blumfump ran out behind him, but Lance had his eye on something else: a crossbow that had skittered across the floor when the soldier had been pinned down.

He bent down and grabbed it.

“Hey!” protested the soldier, turning his head only to have his cheek smashed against the floor by Swirn’s palm.

“Finders keepers!” taunted Lance, running for the door.

Chaos had already broken out in the time Lance had spent grabbing a weapon. It didn’t take much guessing to figure out what had brought that chaos about, either. Keith looked right at home, a man of action rather than planning. Unfortunately, that seemed to lead to problems. Problems like not noticing when a sword was headed right for the back of his head.

“Keith, duck!”

Keith did what he was told without hesitation, and the strike easily cleared him.

Before Keith could stand back up, Lance aimed his stolen crossbow at the head of the Golem that had attacked him. The arrow hit its mark and the Golem sparked before falling overboard and landing in the water with a soft splash, as if it had landed in something just a little less watery than water, like a half-melted slushie.

Keith looked at where the Golem had been standing just a moment before, then turned back to Lance, gawking.

Lance couldn’t help but grin. “I’ve got your back!”

Keith smiled, but for less than a second. “Lance, on your right!”

Lance jumped back, away from whatever was on his right, and narrowly missed a sword himself. Before he could retaliate, however, a barrage of glass bottles knocked the creature back and Plaxum came running in to save the day with a sword she must have picked up from another of their enemies.

Lance sent her the only ASL he knew—“thank you”—and she paused only long enough to send him a thumbs up before continuing her assault.

“Okay,” said Lance, whipping around to look for higher ground. “Gotta pull my weight.”

He ran around the room where he, Keith, and the rebels had been kept and climbed his way toward the elevated stern of the ship. From there, he’d have a much better advantage as a ranged attacker.

Before he made it to the top, something grabbed his ankle and yanked him so hard that he took damage when he fell. In the real world, he had no doubt he would have broken a rib on the stairs.

He tried to roll onto his back only to be pulled harder.

“No, you don’t!” hissed the Galra in a deep, snake-like voice. “You’re not getting away, and you’re not getting another shot on me.” He pulled Lance the rest of the way down the stairs and stepped on his chest, but not before Lance could roll onto his back and look up at who had grabbed him.

It was the same Galra that had grabbed Keith back at the entrance of the village; Lance recognized the pointy features. That, and the odd blue spot in the center of his forehead that seemed to be exactly where Lance’s killing arrow had landed.

Lance raised his crossbow.

The Galra yanked it out of his hands.

“What goes around comes around, Boy,” said the Galra, his shark-sharp teeth bared as he turned the weapon around and pointed it at Lance’s forehead.

Lance closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

All that came was a strangled gasp, followed by a loud _clank_.

Lance opened his eyes.

Keith stood over him, surrounded by purple smoke and holding a black and violet sword.

“Lance, you okay?” Keith bent down and offered his hand.

“Yeah, I…” Lance reached up and took Keith’s wrist, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. He cleared his throat. “I mean, I, uh, I totally had that guy.”

Keith rolled his eyes with a good-natured smirk. “Right.” He let go of Lance’s hand and took a half-jogging step back. “Stay sharp, all right?” He turned around and darted back into the fray.

Lance picked up his crossbow. _“Stay sharp.” Right. Like I can do that when he smiles like a— Okay, maybe now isn’t the time._

He ran up the rest of the stairs and took a knee at the front of the stern, near the abandoned helm. From there, he could see most of the ship, and he could protect his allies without running into issues with close-quarter fights.

And he noticed a shift in his allies as they realized one by one that someone was looking out for them.

Blumfump stopped running around quite so much and focused more on targeting bolts of lightning.

Plaxum dropped her sling and focused entirely on using her stolen sword.

Swirn didn’t change too much, but she seemed to be riskier. At one point, Lance spotted her tackling a foot soldier off the side of the ship.

And Keith… He almost seemed like he was having fun. He used the environment to his advantage, jumped onto the ship’s railing, kicked off of the mast… Lance half-expected to look back and Keith swinging from the sail like some sort of fairytale swashbuckler. It was almost bizarre. For as serious as Keith seemed to take everything, it seemed like he was a fighter at heart.

Despite how energized Lance felt when he watched Keith, though, there was still something off. Something that bothered Lance deeply.

_“They’re going to make sure they see us sink to the bottom.”_

Lance lifted his head, his brow furrowed.

If the Galra were so keen on taking Keith down, why _weren’t_ they watching?

“Where are the big guys?”

“I suppose you’re talking about me.”

Lance gasped and whipped around, crossbow raised. He fired a bolt as quick as he could, aiming in the direction of the voice.

The Galra appeared around the arrow like watercolors filling in a painting, revealing that the arrow had landed in the center of the Galra’s throat.

Again, the Galra snapped the bolt in half with his natural hand. He threw the shaft on the deck so sharply it was as if he were trying to pierce the floorboards. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

He began to walk forward.

Lance loosed another arrow, then another.

Both struck the Galra.

Neither slowed him down.

“I’ve had just about enough of you.”

The Galra’s massive red and white hand reached out so quickly that Lance didn’t even have time to _try_ to run.

Each of the clawed fingers was big enough to wrap around Lance and press into his back like dull knives. The hand yanked Lance forward, pulling him like a grappling hook right into the Galra’s face and holding him captive.

“You’ve troubled me for the last time,” said the Galra, ignoring Lance’s protesting kicks and squirms. “I killed you in the village, I captured you by the forest, and here you are again.” His natural, yellow eye narrowed. “This is not your fight. You are not of this world. You have no quarrel with us. It is not your place to take sides. You should have stayed in your lane.”

Lance kicked the Galra’s chest. It did nothing. “Yeah? Well, if you’re just going after Alteans, why do you keep trying to kill _Keith_? _Huh_?!”

The Galra bared his teeth and wrinkled his nose. “You really do know nothing.”

His grip tightened.

Lance cried out and reached up for the Galra’s fingers as if he could have pried them away.

“I recommend you learn to let go of him,” said the Galra, “because in just a few moments, he won’t be your problem anymore. Not yours, not anyone’s.”

Lance glared hard into the Galra’s eyes, and he began to shake. It wasn’t the pain that made him tremble, not the fear of what was going to happen, no. It was hate. Pure, unchecked, real hatred coursed through Lance’s body. He’d never hated anyone, _anyone_ , as much as he hated the Galra who was squeezing the life out of him that very second.

“You know what?” Lance spoke slowly. His voice quivered with every word, every syllable. The anger made everything more difficult. It was a struggle just to speak instead of scream. But he wanted to make sure the Galra heard him loud and clear. He needed the Galra to know exactly how he felt, exactly how furious he was, exactly how much he meant it when he finally put his feelings into words.

“Fuck you.”

The planks beneath the Galra’s feet began to glow. A circle of words written in blue Altean fanned outward in a spiral, like opening flower petals.

A message appeared in front of Lance’s face, only the second time he’d ever seen a message of its type.

╔═════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｙｏｕ＇ｖｅ ｍａｓｔｅｒｅｄ ａ ｎｅｗ ｓｐｅｌｌ：

ＦＲＯＳＴＢＩＴＥ

╚═════════════════════════════════════════════╝

The Galra dropped Lance as if he’d been stung and stumbled back, shivering.

“What did you do?” he demanded, falling to his knees and gripping his stomach with his natural arm, his unnatural one closing into a fist and pounding the floor so hard that it splintered. “ _What did you do?!_ ”

Lance climbed to his feet slowly, still shaking with anger.

He had no idea what he did.

He just hoped the Galra was in pain.

Genuinely, from the bottom of his heart, Lance wanted nothing more than for the Galra to suffer.

The Galra screamed, loud and pained and ear-piercing, and then, despite showing no visible signs of injury, he vanished in a puff of purple smoke. Dead.

A few items were left in his place. Things like Fire Oil and Float Potions. Nothing of note.

Nothing, that is, but his arm.

Curious, wary, but still angry, Lance crossed the short distance to where the arm lied. He kneeled to the splintered wood planks and, with a cautious hand, touched the disembodied arm.

The arm glinted once, a fiery red, and then, in a flash of light, it changed shape. It shrank to the size of a saucer, maintaining only its white and red color, and it curved into an odd, curved H-shape with a handle in the middle.

Lance shook his head and stuffed the...whatever-it-was in his bag. He didn’t have time to figure out what was going on there. His primary concern, his only real concern, was that only two of the three generals he’d seen had been taken out.

There was still Haxus to worry about.

Teeth clenched, Lance rushed to his discarded crossbow and picked it up off the floor. He ran to the edge of the stern, crossbow aimed and ready to fire, but what he saw on the deck below froze him in his tracks.

There was almost no one left.

The Galra Golems were gone.

The foot soldiers were gone.

Blumfump was gone.

Plaxum was gone.

Swirn was still there, hands hovering in front of herself, like she was in the middle of casting a spell, but she never did.

Keith was there as well, thank goodness, toe to toe with Haxus. The sword he’d been using before had disappeared, leaving only his knife, but that didn’t seem like much against Haxus’ broadsword.

All the same, that clearly wasn’t stopping Keith.

Keith attacked with wild abandon, _clang, clang, clang,_ his every blow blocked by Haxus’ sword.

He kicked at Haxus’ feet.

Haxus sidestepped the attack and swung his sword down, landing a blow on Keith’s shoulder.

Lance’s breath caught in his throat.

Keith glowed white, and Lance abruptly realized the role that Swirn played in the fight.

And just as fast, Lance realized that he was the only one doing nothing.

He fired an arrow at Haxus’ head, only to have his attack blocked just as easily as all of Keith’s.

He fired another.

It was blocked.

Keith cut his knife through the air.

Blocked. Parried. Keith was thrown to the ground.

Lance fired another arrow.

Haxus caught it out of the air.

Lance’s heart leapt into his throat.

Keith climbed to his feet.

He ran full-tilt at Haxus, only for Haxus to block his knife yet again, but this time, instead of Keith changing direction and attacking again, he was stopped.

Stopped by Haxus’ other hand, the one that held the arrow.

“Keith!” Lance jumped to his feet, his blood ice cold in his veins.

Keith stumbled back, eyes wide, hand over his chest, the very arrow Lance fired peeking out between his fingers.

Ice began to spread from under his hand, glinting bright white, reflecting the sun.

_What?_

That ice spread further and further, faster and faster, and Lance could only watch as it consumed Keith completely, leaving nothing behind but what looked like an ice sculpture where Keith once stood.

Haxus kicked Keith, hard, and Lance screamed, fully expecting the ice to break and for nothing to be left behind, but all the kick served to do was to knock Keith backward. He hit the floor with a loud _bang_ , and Haxus crouched down low to deliver a solid, impossibly strong kick to the bottom of the statue.

A shocked, horrified cry ripped itself from Lance’s throat as he watched Keith’s frozen body crash through the wall of the ship and land in the icy lake on the other side.

And Lance felt himself run.

He felt his feet hit the floor of the ship with every rushed, terrified step.

He felt the icy wind cut into his face.

He heard Swirn’s odd, gurgling scream of protest as he rushed past her.

He felt himself run through the splintered wood that had been the wall and railing of the ship only seconds before.

He felt the edge of the boat dig into the arches of his feet as he reached the end of the deck.

And then he felt the biting, sinister cold of the icy drink below as he dove, unthinking, into the dark, heartless, unforgiving water of Lover’s Lake.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes my depression makes me stop writing.  
> Sometimes my depression makes me stop doing anything that isn't writing.


	24. Programming Language

It was like watching two battling windstorms. They bounced off each other so well, as if they were two hemispheres of a single brain. They weren’t just conversing, they were _locked_ in conversation. It was a force to behold.

“—by recording the patterns of synapses firing in the brain at different intensities.”

“And how do you convert it to binary?”

“Well, it’s recorded in hexavigesimal—it has to be, that’s the only way it can communicate reliably with the brain itself, being analog—and then it goes through a set of algorithms I programmed into the software.”

“And does that software need to run on a customized headset?”

“Well, it does to be recorded, but not to experience the game as a player. As a player, the script runs in real-time, feeding real sensations directly to the brain with behavior similar to the information received from nerves. It’s basically like having prosthetic nerves.”

“ _Fascinating._ Have you ever considered—”

“Distracted, Shirogane?”

Shiro whipped his head around, abruptly yanking his attention away from Matt’s intense, excited expression. He looked back at Professor Sincline, who was watching him with a sly, knowing expression.

“Uh, yes,” admitted Shiro, crossing his wrists over the top of his sketchbook. “Sorry. They just…” He stole one more glance out of the corner of his eye. “They really hit it off fast, didn’t they?”

When he looked back at Professor Sincline, he found the man smiling. “They certainly did. But we should be discussing business as well.”

Shiro cleared his throat. “Of course. Uh, where were we?”

“I was wondering how you were planning on funding this project prior to coming to us,” said Professor Sincline.

“Crowdfunding,” said Shiro. “We already have a campaign in progress and we’ve been getting the word out however possible. We’ve made some basic video demos, talked to well-known streamers who have shown enough interest in our product to spread the word, and we have a convention planned. We don’t have a lot of time, but there is a time slot allotted to independent developers. We have a solid three minutes on stage to get people interested, but we’ve also booked a booth.”

Professor Sincline hummed thoughtfully. “When you say _convention…_ ”

“Uh, a video game convention,” said Shiro. “Not scientific. I won’t sugarcoat it: This is still a game, despite the lengths Matt’s willing to go for it.”

“Well, Honerva seems interested,” said Sincline, nodding toward the duo beside them who were still talking excitedly, perhaps just a bit loud for the otherwise quiet atmosphere of the restaurant. “I doubt she would be as animated as this if the two of you were developing any old game.”

“It’s mostly Matt, honestly,” admitted Shiro, reaching for his water. “He’s the one who’s responsible for coming up with all the genius ideas. Everything _I’m_ doing _could_ be used in any old game.”

“Shiro, could I borrow this a second?” asked Matt, reaching over the arm Shiro had just stretched out and tapping the sketchbook underneath.

“Uh, sure?” said Shiro, raising an eyebrow.

“Thanks,” said Matt, unceremoniously plucking the sketchbook from Shiro’s personal space and flipping through the pages.

“You let Holt go through your sketchbook?” asked Professor Sincline. “Most artists I’ve met treat that on the same level as crimes against nature.”

Shiro laughed softly. “Well, that’s my work sketchbook,” he explained. “There’s nothing in there that he hasn’t seen. If it was my personal sketchbook, that would be a different story.”

“I assume, based on immediately visible evidence, that your personal sketchbook wouldn’t be too full of images he hasn’t seen before,” said Sincline.

Shiro raised a questioning eyebrow over the lip of his glass, his mouth half-full of water.

“I’m suggesting, Shirogane, that perhaps what he would find in the pages of your sketchbooks would be one and the same with what he finds in the bathroom mirror every morning.”

The water in Shiro’s mouth was immediately sucked into his trachea and Shiro began to cough violently.

It had been one thing for Allura or Keith to call him obvious, but they knew him just as well as Matt did. Being called obvious by one of his old teachers was an _entirely_ different matter. And what was more, he’d said it within earshot of Matt himself, despite the fact that Matt seemed too wrapped up in conversation to hear.

“Easy, there, Shirogane.”

“You okay, Shiro?”

Shiro nodded, still coughing, and raised a hand to signal that he’d be all right. “Wrong pipe,” he rasped, setting his drink down.

“Oh, yikes,” said Matt, half-laughing as he patted Shiro’s back. “It’ll be okay, buddy. Show that epiglottis who’s boss.”

Shiro, despite still coughing, couldn’t help the laughter that came up as well.

“My genius artist,” said Matt to the Sinclines, turning away from Shiro but still keeping a hand on his back. “He can make my dreams real, but he can’t drink water without drowning.”

Professor Sincline sent Shiro a knowing smile.

And Shiro learned that shrinking bashfully was less than effective when one was coughing up a lung.

By the time Shiro’s coughing had settled, Matt and Honerva were neck-deep in tech talk again, just as eager as before.

“That sounds like it would take a lot of storage. Gladiator and Sentry are only in terabytes. I can’t imagine what an entire continent of people in petabytes would do. Even if you were to keep each person on a separate hard drive, your network would have to be massive.”

“Oh, you bet. That’s the biggest part of the expenses, actually. But it’s not a simple 2.5 petabyte-per-person ratio. There are some things almost everyone is going to know, at least to some extent. Things like breathing subconsciously or how to move your arms or language. Specifically English. I’m thinking about adding ASL, too, for accessibility— Anyway, the point is, it would be kind of insane to have a separate segment of code for every single character to be able to blink and read and translate optical information, right? So I’ve been working on a sort of _hive mind,_ something _all_ the characters are going to be hooked up to, that holds common information, so it’s actually not as bad as it seems.”

“That’s very clever.”

“Thank you—”

“Are the animals also going to be able to read?”

“Ha! Some of them, maybe. Magical creatures like dragons and stuff. But I actually want to try to create anything that isn’t human myself.”

“And you understand the recordings enough to do that?”

“Uh, sort of. That’s why I’m only doing it with stuff that isn’t human. I think I could get away with that. _Maybe_ small children. Anything more developmentally advanced and… I think they’d just feel _off_ somehow, you know? I don’t even want to try it. Talk about uncanny valley. No thanks.”

“Would you, say, be interested in including Sentry or Gladiator in the game, perhaps as enemies, or maybe very basic AI for tutorials?”

“Would you be interested in that?”

“I would be very interested in that.”

“Hmm. Could you show me that picture again?”

“Of course.”

“Shiro!”

Shiro snapped out of his distracted stupor and lifted his cheek off of his fist. “What?” He sat up straight, suddenly a great deal more aware of where he was and what he’d been doing since he’d stopped coughing. He stole a wary glance toward Professor Sincline, and he felt heat crawl up his neck the second he realized that the way he’d been staring at Matt was probably very similar to the way Sincline was still staring at Honerva.

_If I look anything like that, I really must be obvious._

Matt looped his arm casually—perhaps too casually—around Shiro’s arm and tugged him closer. “Look at these awesome robots Dr. Sincline has been working on.”

“Robots?” Shiro admitted, he’d only been paying half-attention to the conversation Honerva and Matt had been in. Most of it had gone over his head, and...to be honest, he had been far more focused on the light in Matt’s eyes. “How did we get on the topic of robots?”

“Comparing notes on artificial intelligence,” said Matt. “Apparently, Honerva created two totally unique programming languages—two!—just to see if she could make both of them aware enough to communicate with each other despite everything in their programming being purposely incompatible.”

“Sounds like my cousin—” Shiro cut his muttering short, realizing a moment too late that perhaps a business meeting wasn’t a good time to discuss Keith’s less-than-social nature.

Matt snorted and elbowed Shiro in the side. “Did you really have to drag him like that? Right now?”

“Here.” Honerva reached over the table before Shiro could answer and offered her phone, more specifically showing the image on the screen. Two humanoid, but faceless, robots were slumped lifelessly against a wall, one silver and violet, the other white and yellow.

“I like the designs,” said Shiro, who wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to say.

“Do you like them enough to design a model of one of them for your game?” asked Honerva.

“Maybe,” said Shiro. “They wouldn’t be robots, though. That wouldn’t really fit with the environment we’re going for. Maybe something like...possessed suits of armor.”

“Ooh,” said Matt, leaning further into Shiro’s arm. “I like it. What do you think, Dr. Sincline?”

“That suits me just fine,” said Honerva.

Matt raised his head, eyes wide.

“Pun not intended,” said Honerva, smiling playfully.

“Darn!” Matt sighed. “You were about to become my favorite person.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to take that title away from Shiro,” said Honerva, pulling her phone back. “It seems like he’s earned it.”

Shiro paled. Her, too?

“What makes you think Shiro’s my favorite person?” asked Matt, a mock-offended hand over his chest. “I’ll have you know I have a very, very smart younger sibling and a wonderful mother who loves me very much. That’s a lot of competition.”

“I assumed it was a fair assumption,” said Honerva, raising an eyebrow, still smiling. “After all, you are hanging from his arm right now.”

Matt raised his eyebrows, then looked at Shiro as if noticing him for the first time. Then he looked back at Honerva. “Okay, fair’s fair.” He pulled away from Shiro without a word.

Honerva opened her mouth to say something else, but her phone, still in her hand, began to vibrate. She frowned and looked at the screen, and the life seemed to drain out of her face immediately.

“Oh, no,” she said quietly.

“What is it?” asked Professor Sincline, leaning closer with a look on his face that suggested he knew exactly who was calling.

Honerva took Professor Sincline’s arm and sent both Matt and Shiro an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but we really need to take this.”

Before Shiro or Matt could react, both Sinclines were on their way to the front door of the restaurant.

“What was that about?” asked Shiro, looking down at Matt.

Matt just shrugged.

A surprising length of time passed before the Sinclines returned. During the course of their absence, the meals they’d ordered arrived, and though Matt and Shiro’s meals were served on plates, the Sinclines’ meals showed up in plastic takeaway containers.

Shiro and Matt exchanged another glance.

“Did you see them talk to a server?” asked Shiro.

“No,” said Matt. “But they must have. What do we do about this? Do we eat without them?”

“I say we wait,” said Shiro.

“Well, we won’t have to wait for long,” said Matt, pointing over Shiro’s shoulder. “Here they come.”

Sure enough, when Shiro turned around, he saw a rather disgruntled-looking Honerva leading her equally upset-looking husband to their table.

“I’m so sorry,” she said once she was close enough to their table. “Something came up at home and we have to leave early to take care of it. We’ve already paid for your meals as an apology for ducking out early—”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” said Matt hurriedly.

“Of course we did,” said Honerva. “We promised you a meeting and now we’re leaving before our food is even here. However…” She clasped her hands together. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that you made quite the impression on us and we will absolutely support this incredible scientific advancement however possible. Game or not, we’ve agreed that the world could learn a lot from this venture.”

“You’re serious?” asked Shiro, his eyes widening.

“Completely,” said Professor Sincline. “Providing you can comply with a simple condition.”

“Of course,” said Matt, inching to the edge of his seat. “Anything.”

“We want to be villains,” said Honerva, smiling. “That’s all. We don’t even have to be important villains. Just something where we get to wear dark clothes and be melodramatic.”

“And it’s necessary for us to be together,” said Professor Sincline. “We’d like to go into further detail about this, but we really should be going—”

“Oh, no, that’s totally fine,” said Matt, shuffling his way out of the booth. “We’d love to have you in the game. Absolutely. And you guys would make great villains. Uh, no offense.”

“None taken,” said Professor Sincline. “As a college professor, I’m used to being the antagonist in at least a handful of students’ lives every semester.”

Shiro joined Matt outside of the booth and offered his hand. “Thank you for meeting with us,” he said sincerely. “And for agreeing to help finance our project. I’m sorry about whatever happened. I hope everything is okay.”

“It will be,” said Honerva, her smile turning sad as she took Shiro’s hand and shook it. “We’ve made it through something like this before and we can do it again.”

“ _Several_ times before,” said Professor Sincline, sounding just the slightest bit annoyed, as he took Shiro’s hand next.

“Then I hope it goes smoother this time,” said Shiro.

“So do we,” said Honerva. She shook Matt’s hand briefly, then reached for the take-home containers on her side of the table. “Try to enjoy the rest of your evening, you two.”

“We will,” said Matt. “I’m sure.”

Without a further word, both Sinclines rushed out the door, Honerva’s heels clicking sharply on the tile floor as she followed her husband outside.

“...Would it be rude to high five after that?” asked Matt, still watching the door the Sinclines had walked through. “Seriously, what the quiznak was that about?”

“No idea,” said Shiro, his eyes still on the door as well. “Professor Sincline has a son, right? Maybe he was in an accident or something.”

“You’d think they’d be a little more worried if that was the case,” said Matt, sliding back into the booth.

“Maybe it was a _minor_ accident,” said Shiro, sliding into the opposite side of the booth the Sinclines had left vacant. “So the car was damaged, but no one got hurt. Maybe they just left to pick him up because he couldn’t drive home or something. _I’d_ be annoyed if something like that happened on a regular basis.”

“Maybe,” said Matt, carefully lifting Shiro’s plate and setting it closer to him. “Or maybe the son got abducted by aliens.”

“For the nth time?” asked Shiro, smirking.

“For the nth time,” agreed Matt, beaming. “Anyway, this basically means we get to eat in a fancy restaurant for free. _And_ we’ve got our financial backers _and_ the first people outside of our little group of friends willing to actually put something into the game. We’ve got our first villains! That’s a bonus I wasn’t expecting.” He began to twirl some of the pasta on his plate. “Not too shabby, right?”

Shiro smiled. “You really won the professor’s wife over.”

“Ugh, she’s _so smart_ ,” said Matt, who still seemed to be running on the excitement before. “I can’t believe some of the stuff she’s doing. She’s going to wind up in history books, I can already tell. And you know, I’ve never met anyone who just...intellectually clicked with me that fast before, you know? Not that I don’t appreciate your efforts, Shiro. No offense.”

“None taken,” said Shiro. “I understood maybe a third of what you two were saying. I know you’re not sticking with me for my brains.”

“Oh, no,” said Matt, smirking. “It’s clearly your _good looks_ and your _big muscles._ ”

Shiro covered the lower half of his face with his hand and laughed, shaking his head and hoping Matt didn’t notice the blush that was crawling back onto his cheeks. That had been happening a lot that night. So much that Shiro felt guilty for it. He should have been thinking less about Matt and more about—

“Hey, Shiro, are you okay?”

Shiro lifted his head and dropped his hand. “Huh?”

Matt was watching him, a gentle expression having replaced his excitement from before. He seemed genuinely worried.

“Yeah.” Shiro shrugged. “I’m fine. Sorry, I keep zoning out tonight.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” said Matt, leaning over the table and lowering his voice. “You didn’t get here as early as I thought you would. I didn’t want to bring it up earlier, but now that Zarkon and Honerva are gone…”

Shiro sighed. Honestly, he wasn’t okay. He really, really wasn’t. But from the second he got out of his car and saw Matt waiting for him outside of the restaurant, he’d been able to forget about how terrible he felt. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled, looking down at his plate. “I was just...nervous about the meeting. That’s all.” He sent Matt a faux smile.

Matt didn’t buy it for a second. “Oh, come on, Shiro, give me a little more credit than that. You’re my best friend. I know when something isn’t right.”

“I…” Not for the first time that night, Shiro found himself feeling guilty for not being able to tell what was on Matt’s mind when Matt seemed to see through him like glass. He sighed quietly. “I’ll be fine.”

Matt frowned. “Is it Keith? His dad?”

“No,” said Shiro, looking down at his plate. “Keith and his dad are both fine.”

“Then is it Allura?”

Shiro’s shoulders tensed.

“It is,” said Matt. The table jolted suddenly. “This totally has to do with Allura. Is she okay?”

“Allura’s fine,” said Shiro.

“Wait.” Matt lowered his voice. “Is she pregnant?”

“ _No,_ ” snapped Shiro, lifting his head.

Matt flinched.

Shiro felt awful all over again. “Matt, I…” He sighed sharply. “You’re right. Something did happen. But I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.” He closed his eyes, just long enough to take a deep breath, then opened them again. “I’m still trying to adjust to it, so if you could give me some time…”

Matt’s expression softened. “Okay.” He reached across the table and grasped Shiro’s hand. “I won’t pressure you anymore. I’m sorry about being so pushy. I was worried, but I could have been less…” He gestured vaguely with his free hand. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I mean, I’m obviously here for you if you want, but if you’d rather just get your mind off of it, we can do that, too.” He inched even closer, the end of his tie sliding dangerously close to his plate. “We can have the night of our lives tonight. Anything you want to do. We can catch a movie or get some ice cream or...trade our suits for pajamas and watch The Twilight Zone until three in the morning.”

Shiro relaxed almost immediately. He turned his hand over and gripped Matt’s hand in his own.

“You don’t have to—”

“What, be your best friend?” Matt shrugged. “Come on, Shiro. I’ve got nothing going on after this. My whole night’s free. If I want to spend it making you happy, and you’re up to it, then nothing’s going to stop me.”

Shiro exhaled slowly and let his eyes fall to Matt’s hand in his. “Okay,” he said, looking up to meet Matt’s gaze. “I’m down for a night out.”

“Perfect,” said Matt, smiling in a way that seemed to send a warm glow from Shiro’s heart to the tips of his fingers. “In that case, leave everything to me. By the end of the night, I promise you’re going to remember this day for all the happy stuff, not the sad stuff.”

Shiro laughed softly. “Yeah, well, I could have told you that.” He leaned over his plate, mirroring Matt from the other side of the table. “I mean, you’re already here, right? So most of the work is done already.”

Matt’s eyes widened and he abruptly sat back down, clapping his free hand over the right side of his face in a way that was bound to smudge his glasses. “ _Shiro_ ,” he whined. “You can’t just _say_ that!”

Shiro laughed again, a little louder this time, and squeezed Matt’s hand tighter in his own.

It shouldn’t have been so hard to resist kissing him. Shiro knew he should have been thinking about anything besides how easy it would have been to tug on Matt’s hand and pull him back across the top of the table, to hold his cheek and finally answer to the storm that swirled in Shiro’s chest every time he saw Matt, the storm that had been growing inside of him for years.

But instead, Shiro sat back down, released Matt’s hand, and picked up his fork.

He was much too recently single to be thinking about other people.

 

* * *

 

The timer appeared the very second Lance hit the water. Compared to the way the cold water ripped across him like the paper-thin blades of countless, unending, ruthless knives, it was easy to ignore.

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter that he was terrified.

It didn’t matter that he felt like he was going to die—not just in the game, but in real life as well.

It didn’t matter that his thick, heavy robes that had been a blessing above water had suddenly turned into a burden.

Because he could see Keith ahead of him, sinking deeper and deeper in the water, closer and closer to the bottom of the lake, and he had to help. He had to.

Even though his lungs felt like they were about to burst.

Even though the water was doing everything it could to push him back to the surface.

Lance still fought.

Keith hit the bottom, and a cloud of mud kicked up around him, nearly blocking him from view.

Lance kept swimming.

If it wasn’t for seeing Keith completely helpless, if not for the fact that Lance was fighting the terrified locking of his joints with every desperate stroke, the hardest part would have been holding his breath in spite of the clouding of his mind and his vision and everything in his head screaming at him, telling him that he should have been breathing more, not less. He should have been hyperventilating, not holding his breath.

But the stony, solid feeling of Keith’s frozen arm through Lance’s glove kept him fighting, even at the very bottom of the lake.

Lance pulled himself down to Keith’s level, using his weight to anchor them both.

 _What do I do?!_ he thought frantically, looking over Keith’s entire body. _I can’t just drag him to the surface! He’s_ way _too heavy! What do I do? What do I do?!_

He spotted the arrow—his own arrow—still peeking out between Keith’s fingers.

Whatever that Galra had done, he only managed it because Lance had given him the means to do so.

 _Not now,_ thought Lance. _I can beat myself up later. We need to get out of here. Get out. Get out. How?_

Still holding onto Keith’s arm with one hand, Lance reached for his bag, which was just as keen on getting back to the surface as Lance himself was. He slipped his hand inside and felt around until he felt a warm, familiar-feeling bottle.

 _That!_ Lance yanked the bottle out of his bag and pulled the cork free with his teeth.

The second the bottle was open and the oil hit the water, it exploded, shattering the glass in Lance’s hand and bringing the water to an instant boil radiating from the point where the bottle had once been. It burned, but Lance almost preferred that burn to the burn of the cold water. Even if he hadn’t, the scalding water was worth it. Not only had Lance’s timer reset, but whatever status effect Haxus had given Keith was reversed. He wasn’t frozen anymore. He was unconscious, but he wasn’t weighed down anymore.

Keith’s knife began to sink and Lance quickly grabbed it to put it back in his inventory before turning his attention on Keith himself. The second Lance wrapped his arms around Keith’s chest, however, a shadow wrapped itself around everything else. It blocked out the sun, drowning everything in shadow.

At first, Lance thought it was tunnel vision setting in.

Then he turned around.

_Oh...my god…_

It had no eyes.

It had no eyes, but it still seemed to be looking directly into Lance’s mind.

It was utterly still, save for two short fins at the back of its neck and a green mane that shifted in the water, and yet, it seemed to be in constant, subtle, hypnotic motion.

It felt as though the creature was breathing Lance in, as though he were being devoured not in body, but in soul.

And on top of all of that, on top of its eyeless gaze, its motionless movement, its consumption without consuming, was the creature’s size. It lied on the lakebed, coiled up like a snake, but it lifted its head high, nearly high enough to reach past the surface.

It was as if Lance’s fear of the cold and the water had taken form, had become a real, tangible beast.

The creature dipped forward and opened its mouth, splitting its head open into four segments and revealing two sets of teeth, one around its star-shaped mouth and the other at the back of its throat.

Lance, clutching Keith to his chest, kicked at the water, trying to swim backward despite the fact that he knew it was futile. His robes got tangled around his legs and he fought and kicked, desperately trying to move backward and only serving to send what was left of his sash, his bag, and his necklace, whipping in different directions.

The creature froze again, just watching Lance, or listening, or perhaps feeling his movement in the water.

And then it closed its mouth again.

It lifted its head, and before Lance could question what it was doing, it took off, swimming over Lance’s head like an arrow firing somewhere into the lake behind him.

Lance didn’t bother trying to figure out where the creature had gone. He didn’t care.

All he cared about was the timer counting down in the corner of his eye and the unconscious person in his arms.

A sudden, horrified thought rang through Lance’s head with all the reverberation and finality of a church bell.

_Is he breathing?_

They needed to get out of the water fast. Lance had no idea how much time Keith had left, whether the only thing that had kept him alive so far was his warrior class and the high HP that came along with it, but there was no way he would be able to last much longer.

Lance began to swim upward as fast as he could, holding Keith tight enough to bruise.

 _Not fast enough,_ he thought desperately. _I need something, an extra boost, something to push me to the surface, like a potion that would make me— I’m officially an idiot._

Still holding onto Keith with one hand, Lance reached for his bag and yanked one of his potions free. He uncorked it, and potion mixed with freezing cold water in his mouth.

Faster than his legs could have ever taken him, Lance was carried to the surface of the water, Keith still held securely in his arms.

A pained scream ripped itself from Lance’s throat. He grabbed at Keith, yanking him up by his robes until Lance was sure his head was completely out of the water, and then, ignoring the burning, tearing sensation of cold wind on his wet face, he turned in the water, looking for the closest escape from the water.

Technically, the closest escape was the boat, but even though Lance’s fear of the Galra was almost nonexistent compared to the cold, Lance also knew that the Galra could send them both back into the water.

He swam in the opposite direction.

Keeping Keith’s head over the water was a struggle. With every stroke of his arms, Lance watched Keith’s mouth dip dangerously close to the surface of the lake. Swimming was a desperate balance between moving forward and tugging at Keith’s clothes, keeping him out of the danger of drowning.

The edges of the lake were still frozen, broken into threatening points like sharp glass. Lance climbed on top of the edge first, then hooked his arms under Keith’s armpits and pulled him up as well, careful to avoid injuring Keith on the sharp edges as much as possible.

“C-C-C-C—” _Come on, Buddy,_ Lance meant to say. _We’re gonna make it. Just a little further. Hang in there._

But the words wouldn’t come. Lance’s lip was quivering too much to form words. A warmth trailed down Lance’s cheeks, leaving an even harsher cold in its wake, and Lance realized he was crying.

He sniffed weakly and looked around, seeking an escape from the wind. The ideal would have been the blue, palace-like building by north side of the water’s edge, but it was too far away. Lance wasn’t sure he _or_ Keith would make it if he tried to walk that far.

There was, however, a cave entrance much closer.

Lance took a fragile, trembling breath and pulled Keith’s arm over his shoulders.

It could have been the entrance to a dungeon, it could have been just as dangerous as the boat would have been, but it was still their best chance.

If there was a difference in the cold when Lance got in the cave and out of the cold, he couldn’t feel it. He could barely feel anything at all.

His timer stopped counting down, though. It was still there, looming ominously at 0:37, but that seven never rolled to a six. That had to be a good sign, right?

Once Lance had carried Keith deep enough into the cave that he could barely hear the wind’s howl, he carefully set Keith down on the cave floor and reached into his bag for his last bottle of Fire Oil.

With a shaking hand, he poured the contents of the bottle on the cave floor near Keith, just far enough away avoid letting it spread to his body or his clothes. Only when Lance had poured it out, however, did he realize that he had nothing to ignite the oil with.

He looked through the dark to where he knew he’d dropped Keith, thinking of the knife in his hidden inventory that he couldn’t use, and something sparked in his memory.

The arrow he’d fired at that Galra.

It was still in Keith’s chest.

Lance closed his eyes and took a trembling breath. He lowered himself to his knees slowly, slid his hand up Keith’s arm, and followed it to his chest, where he felt the protrusion.

 _Don’t kill him,_ thought Lance, pressing his eyes shut as he wrapped his fingers around the arrow. _Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him. Don’t—_

He yanked the arrow out and quickly put his other hand to Keith’s chest.

He still felt Keith breathing. He was still there.

Lance gripped the arrow in his hand and turned around to stab the puddle of oil he’d created.

The oil was consumed in a high, steady flame that immediately began to warm the stone beneath it, as well as Lance’s hands.

It illuminated Keith’s face, which was still drenched.

A weak, delirious laugh fell from Lance’s lips.

Keith’s stupid mullet was sticking to his face.

Hands still shaking, Lance reached out and swept Keith’s wet bangs back from his eyes.

Lance’s brow furrowed.

_He’s so…_

 

* * *

 

Music.

That was the first thing Keith noticed. The music.

Not what people generally thought of when they thought of music, but music no less.

Humming.

Soft, echoed humming.

Only after that did Keith begin to notice how cold he was. And wet. His clothes were soaked.

Keith warily opened his eyes.

Golden firelight danced and flickered on the ceiling, but he didn’t hear the crackling of a wood fire. He didn’t smell smoke, either. A quick look to Keith’s right confirmed his suspicion, that the firelight came from pure ignited Fire Oil.

Slowly, Keith sat up, grimacing at the way his wet clothes clung to his body, and he looked around, searching for the source of the humming. At first, he saw nothing.

Then, he noticed the familiar figure at the very edge of where the firelight reached, gripping his knees in the shadows, his gaze glued to the wall across from himself.

Keith was starting to get used to waking up and seeing Lance there.

He slowly, carefully climbed to his feet and closed the distance between himself and the boy who seemed to be saving him more and more often as of late. At the rate they were going, Keith might have wound up owing Lance soon.

Lance didn’t seem to notice Keith until they were only a few inches apart. When he did, he barely reacted. The biggest response was the sudden silence. Beyond that, all Lance did was glance briefly at Keith before turning his eyes back to the wall.

He looked just as wet and cold as Keith felt.

Keith ignored the unpleasant twist in his gut and sat down next to Lance.

“Are...you okay?” asked Keith.

“No,” murmured Lance.

Keith crossed his arms and gripped his wet sleeve in the crook of his elbow. He didn’t like what he was seeing. Lance wasn’t acting like himself. And he had no idea how to fix it.

“...Maybe you should sit closer to the fire,” suggested Keith, shrugging. “You’d probably feel better if you warmed up.”

Lance looked down at his knees. That was his only response.

Keith pressed his eyes shut. “Look, I don’t remember what happened, but...we were in the lake, right?”

He opened his eyes just in time to see Lance nodding.

“Okay,” said Keith slowly. “So...how did we get there?”

Lance turned his face away and lifted his hand, which Keith had only just noticed held a bolt from the crossbow he’d seen Lance using on the boat.

Keith furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t really...”

And then he remembered.

He remembered Haxus stabbing him and the realization that Haxus must have used water-themed magic when the cold spread through him like his very blood was freezing.

He remembered not being able to move.

And that was when everything went black.

Keith looked down at his feet. “I was frozen,” he mused. He’d seen creatures turned to stone by creatures with earth magic. Haxus must have used a water equivalent to the spell.

Lance said nothing to confirm his assumption, but Keith wasn’t going to pressure him when he looked so...fragile.

“Did Haxus throw me into the water?” asked Keith, lifting his head.

Lance, his face still turned away, nodded slowly.

Keith licked his lips, searching for the most sensitive way to get the information he wanted. “...Did you jump in after me?”

Again, Lance nodded, evading Keith’s gaze.

Keith opened his mouth to ask why, but he stopped himself. He didn’t really need to know that, and Lance didn’t need a loaded question like that. And anyway, there was something better Keith could say instead.

“Um… Thank you.”

This was finally enough to make Lance turn and look at him.

His tears caught the firelight.

And for the longest time, he didn’t say anything at all. He just stared, as if he could read Keith’s mind through his eyes.

Keith didn’t like it. He gripped his sleeve tighter to keep himself from snapping. “...What?”

And Lance answered in a language Keith couldn’t understand.

“Eres tú.”

“What?”

“Lo juro,” said Lance through clenched teeth. “Eres tú.” He put both of his hands down on the cave floor and leaned closer. “ _Keith._ Yo recono—”

Keith leaned back and uncrossed his arms, his brow furrowed. “Lance, I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“¡Por supuesto que sí!” snapped Lance, grabbing Keith’s wrist. “¡Tú hablaste español! ¡Habíamos creaste un vínculo! ¡Tú me sostuviste en tus brazos!”

“Lance.” Keith yanked his arm free. “Stop it. Whatever you’re trying to say, I _don’t understand._ Yelling in my face isn’t going to change that.”

“No, Keith—” Lance grabbed the front of Keith’s wet robes with one hand, looking somewhere between angry and desperate. “Intenta. Mira— Uno, dos, tres—”

Lance suddenly stopped. His eyes widened. He dropped Keith’s robes so fast it was as if he’d been burned.

“Oh, my god.” He raked a visibly shaking hand through his hair. “Oh, my god, I didn’t— Keith, I’m so sorry, I— I don’t have any excuse, I just…” He gripped his hair. It looked painful, but he didn’t even seem to notice. “I’m so sorry, I don’t—”

“Lance.” Keith shuffled forward on his knees and reached out to the hand that was pulling Lance’s hair. Gently, he coaxed it open. “Calm down.” He pulled Lance’s hand down from his hair and held it, hoping to keep it safely away from anything it could damage. “It’s—”

Lance laughed anxiously. “You better not be about to tell me it’s okay, because it’s not. That was _not_ okay. Not even close to okay. Not even in the same universe as okay.”

“No, it wasn’t,” said Keith. “I’d probably be really angry if I didn’t know you were just like this because you jumped into freezing water to save me. But…” He looked down at their hands, then back toward Lance’s horrified, tear-stained face. “I think I know you better than to actually believe that’s something you’d normally do. It’s not okay, but you apologized, so… I’m going to accept your apology.”

Lance blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “You are?” he deadpanned blinking away tears.

“Yeah,” said Keith. “I am.” He shrugged and briefly looked away. “You jumped into freezing water for me. It’s kind of hard to hold a grudge after something like that.”

Lance laughed in disbelief and held up the arrow from before. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have been thrown down there in the first place.”

Keith raised his free hand and rubbed his forehead with his knuckles. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he grumbled. “Lance, you didn’t freeze me. Haxus did.”

“Yeah,” said Lance. “With _my arrow._ ”

Keith lowered his hand and sent Lance a stern glare. “It wasn’t your fault. You were just trying to help. There’s no way you could have known he’d use the arrow like that. Even I wouldn’t have guessed, and I’ve been dealing with the Galra for months.”

Lance glared right back for several seconds, and then, grudgingly he dropped his hand down to his side.

“Okay,” he sighed. “I’m convinced.”

“Convinced?” Keith frowned.

“Yeah,” said Lance. “That you actually don’t want to kill me right now.”

Keith smiled in spite of himself. “I’ve worked way too hard trying to keep you alive to actually want you dead.”

Even though there were still tears at the corners of his eyes, Lance smiled as well. “Okay, fair.”

Keith nodded toward the fire. “Do you want to warm up now?”

“Actually…” Lance’s smile disappeared. “I was kind of hoping to go back to the inn and log out once you woke up. I just didn’t want to leave you alone in case the Galra...”

Keith’s smile faded as well. “Oh. Yeah, I… You can probably use a Yellow Potion now.” He released Lance’s hand. “The warp restriction was probably just on the boat. Maybe on the lake at most.”

“Good,” said Lance. “Great. Uh. Before I go…” He tapped his belt and a familiar-looking knife appeared in his hand. “I, uh, figured you might want this back.” He offered the knife, holding it by the blade. “I mean, I didn’t want to leave it at the bottom of the lake, or…”

Keith reached out and grabbed the handle. “Thanks,” he said, looking Lance in the eye. “This knife actually means a lot to me, so…”

“No problem,” said Lance, letting go of the blade. “Thanks for forgiving me for going ballistic on you.”

Keith shrugged and put his knife back in his inventory. “I wouldn’t say _ballistic_ …”

“I grabbed you and screamed in your face, dude,” said Lance, unimpressed. “In a language you don’t understand. That’s pretty ballistic.”

Keith laughed quietly. “Maybe a little ballistic.”

Lance sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Can’t believe I—”

“Did something that I already forgave you for?” Keith crossed his arms. “Lance, it’s fine. Just go home.” He shrugged. “Wrap yourself in blankets. Drink hot cocoa. Sit in front of the heater. Whatever you need to do to be okay.”

Lance sighed and dropped his hand. “Yeah,” he mumbled, lifting up the flap of his bag. “I just…” He pulled a Yellow Potion out and uncorked it. “Every time I feel like I’m close to…” He sighed again and shook his head. “Never mind. I’m just being stupid.”

Keith shifted uncomfortably. If he knew what it was that made Lance feel stupid, he’d be much more comfortable telling Lance that he wasn’t.

Lance met Keith’s gaze and lifted his bottle in a farewell gesture.

“...See you around,” said Keith, wishing he could have said more.

Lance smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Hasta la later, Keith.”

He drank the potion.

And just like that, he was gone.

 

* * *

 

“‘Hasta la later, Keith’? Really? After what just happened?!”

Lance yanked his headset off and raised it as if he were about to chuck it into his wall. Grudgingly, he lowered it into his lap.

“I’m such a…” He sighed and closed his eyes. “...Damn it.”

A quick, friendly knock on Lance’s door caught his attention and he sat up, still holding onto his headset.

“Yeah, you can come in,” he called.

His door opened and Hunk’s silhouette appeared in his doorway. “Man, it is _dark_ in here. Just log off?” He hit the lights.

Lance winced at the assault on his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

When he dared to look again, Lance found Hunk watching him sympathetically. “You look like hell, dude. Rough day again, I guess?”

“Yeah,” said Lance warily. “Would have probably been worse if I wasn’t doing exposure therapy.” He frowned at Hunk’s own tired-looking expression. “So what’s your excuse?”

Hunk laughed. “Believe it or not, Altea beat the crap out of me today, too.” He rubbed the back of his neck and held up his phone.

“And I’ll tell you all about it at Pidge’s place.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always found it an interesting parallel that both in the first scene with Matt and Shiro and the first scene with pre-Haggar Honerva and Zarkon, a science geek asks a Black Paladin, "Isn't this exciting?"
> 
> Also, I don't rely on Google Translate for Spanish, but I also don't actually know Spanish. This is just me looking up sentence structure and conjugation and trying my best. Normally, I avoid showing characters actually speaking a language I don't know. I'll either translate it up front or just say "He said something that wasn't in English" or something to that effect if the character in charge of the perspective doesn't know the language, but it was actually kind of necessary to show people what Lance said this time, if just for a few words. If it's too formal or if it's worded awkwardly, please let me know and I'll be happy to change it. Thanks in advance.


	25. Escort Mission

“Hey, Hunk?”

“Yeah, Buddy?”

Lance let his head rest gently against the car window and watched the raindrops leave trails as the air pushed them back. “You know how kids’ brains are really elastic, how they pick up languages fast?”

“Yeah…” said Hunk, wariness in his voice, as if he were afraid that Lance would start crying if he said the wrong thing.

“Well…” Lance let his gaze drop to the door’s lock. “Say a kid who was about eight or nine started learning a new language, and he knew enough to have, you know, basic conversations with a native speaker. What are the chances he’d totally lose that language at some point in his life?”

“Uh, I dunno,” said Hunk slowly. “I’m an engineer, not a neuroscientist. But if I had to guess, I’d say that’s probably, like, really low. Well— What are we talking here? Like, the practical use of that language or, like—”

“Everything,” said Lance, closing his eyes. “Every single word.”

“I think that’d be pretty impossible for anyone,” said Hunk. “Not just kids. Even if you forgot basically everything you knew, you’d still hold onto stuff like ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ and—”

“Numbers?” asked Lance.

“Yeah, totally,” said Hunk. “That’s, like, the first thing any language course teaches you. It’s beaten into your head by your fifth lesson at _least_. Why?”

Lance opened his mouth to answer, then thought better of it. He sighed and looked out through the window again, watching the rain and wishing, on some level deep inside of himself, that it would wash him away. “No reason,” said Lance. “Just wondering is all.”

When they pulled in to Pidge’s driveway, Hunk looked out the windshield with a grimace.

“It’s coming down pretty hard,” he said cautiously. “Windy, too, so an umbrella isn’t gonna do much. Do you want to wait a minute and see if it stops, or, like… I’ve got a blanket in the back seat—”

Lance reached for the door handle and popped the door open. The sound of water hitting the leaves of the trees in Pidge’s front yard, rustling the grass, splashing into puddles hit his ears like an angry hiss.

And still, Lance stepped outside.

He closed the door behind himself and tilted his face up to the gray sky overhead.

Raindrops hit his face hard. They were cold. Freezing cold. Lance was almost surprised they were still water, not snow or at least hail. But it was nothing, nothing at all, compared to Lover’s Lake.

Lance glared into the clouds and slowly, defiantly, threw up his hands, sending out two middle fingers directed toward the heavens.

Thunder cracked overhead.

“Same to you!” shouted Lance. He let his hands drop and marched the rest of the way to Pidge’s front door.

By the time his feet were on the welcome mat, Hunk was at his side.

“ _Dude_ ,” said Hunk, almost reverent as he kicked his toes against the mat. “That was intense. Like, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” said Lance, wiping his own feet, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. “I’m basically numb right now. It’s great.”

“That doesn’t sound okay,” said Hunk slowly.

“No,” said Lance, kicking his feet against the mat almost violently. “It’s totally cool. I could probably jump into the Arctic Ocean and take a swim and feel nothing. I’ve reached my limit, what that basically means is I’m unstoppable.”

“Whatever you say, man,” said Hunk, reaching for the doorknob. “But if you need to, like, cry on my shoulder or something, I’m here. And Pidge is here. Got a whole support group tonight.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Lance, shrugging as he stepped inside, “but I won’t need it.”

Lance’s feet hit the linoleum of Pidge’s kitchen floor, he felt the warmth of the house quickly wash over him, and one split second of luxuriating in comfort later, he felt all the affectionate force of a tiny body throw him into Hunk’s chest.

“Whoa!” It wasn’t just Lance who stumbled back a few awkward steps, trying to regain his footing. Even Hunk had been taken off guard by the surprise attack. “Uh, you okay Pidge?” Hunk’s arm wrapped around Lance and pulled Pidge into a hug, sandwiching Lance in the middle.

“If you missed us that much, you know you could have called us here sooner,” said Lance, wrapping his arms around the tiny assailant who was holding onto him like a vice grip.

“I know,” said Pidge, half muffled by Lance’s coat sleeve. “But, I mean, at first, I just wanted to play Shattering without any interruptions because, you know, it’s Matt’s game—and, I mean, Shiro’s, too, but that’s not really why—and, I mean, it felt like he was _there_ , you know? Like everything I saw, I saw Matt in it, and that was all I wanted, but then I started thinking about, like, what if something happened to one of you guys, and I just wasted time I could have spent with you just dwelling on someone I already lost when I could have spent one more day with you guys because, I mean, no one lives forever, and—”

“ _Pidge_ ,” whined Hunk, tightening his hold on both of them almost painfully. “You’re gonna make me cry. This is the first time I’ve seen you in, like, a month. I don’t want to spend it crying the whole time.”

“Also, uh, breathing?” said Lance, half-smiling. “ _Kind of important._ So you should probably consider doing that between sentences sometimes.”

Pidge lifted their head, and when they did, there was a weak smile on their face. “Do...you guys want to play Triple Threat?” They looked over the top of Lance’s head at Hunk.

“Dude,” said Hunk. “I am _down._ ”

Lance had to admit, he was more than relieved to play anything that wasn’t Shattering. Especially something that wasn’t an RPG. And a rhythm game was _exactly_ what Lance needed.

No one really seemed in the mood for dancing, so “Triple Threat” became “Double Threat” by default. Pidge and Lance shared the guitar parts until Hunk made an executive decision that they all needed more muffins in their lives and he handed the microphone off to Lance so he could retreat into the kitchen.

That didn’t mean Hunk stopped singing, however. Oh, no. Despite the fact that Hunk was too far away for the game to pick him up, that didn’t stop him from making every song a duet.

“ _‘Cause I get no satisfaction_

_From the way that you’re reactin’_

_No, I gotta, gotta, gotta make you see—_ ”

Hunk whipped around just in time to take his hand off the spoon he was using to stir the batter and point it at Lance just as Lance pointed back at him.

“ _You’re everything to me!_ ”

“Boo!” heckled Pidge from the couch, despite the smile Lance saw when he turned around. “Get a room!”

“You’re just jealous of our love!” called Hunk from the kitchen. “Admit it!”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” said Lance, smirking confidently and putting one hand on his hip. “Anyone would be.”

“Lance.” Pidge’s eyes were still trained on the television. “Your score’s going down.”

“Shoot—!”

Once the song had ended, Lance sighed and flopped down on the couch next to Pidge, watching their score tally up.

“Thanks for playing this with me,” said Pidge, keeping their eyes trained on the screen as they set their guitar controller aside. “I haven’t played it since…” They frowned minutely. “...Matt always picked the dance option. And he always used it as an excuse to stand right in front of the TV while I did the guitar part, so I couldn’t see past him.” A bittersweet smile replaced the frown. “It’s not even a competitive game. He just liked to mess with me. My score would dive-bomb, the game would make that annoying twang noise every time I missed a note, and Matt still racked up the perfects even though the music wasn’t even audible anymore and he was laughing the whole time and—”

Their voice cracked. They took off their glasses and reached up to wipe their eyes with the end of their sleeve.

“I miss his laugh,” they mumbled, pressing the heel of their hand into their eye. “I miss his laugh _so much_ , and every once in a while, I just think about how I’m never going to hear it again, and I just get—”

Lance couldn’t take it. He reached across the couch and wrapped an arm around Pidge’s shoulders, pulling them close. They turned inward and buried their face in Lance’s chest, hugging him back with all the strength in their tiny arms.

“It’s so stupid,” they mumbled. “It feels like I should be better by now. I mean, not _better_ better, he was my _brother,_ but at least not crying at every stupid little thing that makes me think of him.”

“I mean, you can’t blame yourself for _feeling_ ,” said Lance, rubbing soothing circles between Pidge’s shoulder blades. “It’s only been five months and you guys were basically two halves of a single person. It’s gonna hurt for a while. Besides, you’re looking at the _king_ of not getting over stuff. It’s not like I’m gonna judge you for not bucking up sooner.”

Pidge sniffed and pulled out of the hug. “I’ll accept your totally biased attempts at cheering me up…” They rubbed their eyes with their sleeve one more time and reached toward the arm of the couch where they’d left their glasses. “...on one condition.”

“Uh…” Lance raised an eyebrow. Pidge’s conditions were generally reason to be worried. “What’s the condition?”

“That you tell me why _you’re_ acting weird today.”

“Oh.” Lance exhaled sharply through pursed lips. “ _That._ Uh…”

Hunk shuffled out of the kitchen and entered Lance’s peripheral vision.

Lance sighed and ran a hand through his hair, sending the short strands flicking back to their original positions in his hand’s wake.

“...I _may_ have jumped into a frozen lake to save a character.” Whether the character was a player character or a non-player character wasn’t really their business. “I mean—” Lance dropped his hand and gestured sharply to the space in front of himself. “The lake wasn’t _frozen_ frozen. Like, it wasn’t solid. But there was ice _in_ it. A _lot_ of ice. It was kind of like a slushie near the top, actually, and—”

“Whoa, _what?_ ” Hunk pressed a hand to the archway between the kitchen and the living room.

“I’m kind of torn,” said Pidge, a hand over their chin. “I’m not sure whether to ask if you’re okay or if she was pretty.”

“Okay, first off, it wasn’t a she,” said Lance. “It was a _he_ , and—”

“Was _he_ pretty?” pressed Pidge, raising an eyebrow.

“No, look—” Lance faltered. “I mean, well, yeah, he was, but that wasn’t _why I did it._ ”

“Keep telling yourself that, champ,” said Pidge.

“Guys,” said Hunk sharply. “I think we’re sort of overlooking a major event here. Lance, are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

“I’m fine!” said Lance. “And what about you, anyway? What’s the deal with you and Shay?”

“Shay?” asked Pidge. “Who’s _Shay?_ ”

“Hunk’s Altean rock girlfriend,” said Lance.

Hunk squawked indignantly. “She’s not my _girlfriend_! She’s just an NPC that I partied up with and I admire very much.”

“You know,” said Pidge, smirking playfully, “Matt told me once that you can marry NPCs in the game. You know, if they accept your proposal.”

Hunk’s eyes widened and he turned toward Pidge. “W-What— Really?” Then, apparently realizing how obvious he was being, he shook his head and got back on topic. “Why are we talking about me and Shay? We didn’t do anything, like, psyche-damaging.” He turned back to Lance. “Jumping into freezing cold water like that would scare anyone, but you’ve got a _phobia_ , dude. How are you not, like…?” Hunk trailed off guiltily.

“Exposure therapy,” said Lance, crossing his arms and frowning at his knees. “I probably would have been much worse off if I wasn’t taking deep breaths in a cold shower every day. I don’t even want to think about how I would have handled it if I hadn’t been, you know, _working_ on that. Today was probably a step back, but…”

He lifted his gaze off his legs and found both Hunk and Pidge watching him, concern in their every feature.

“I’m _fine_ ,” insisted Lance. “And Hunk, you _still_ haven’t told us what happened with you and Shay. Spill it.”

Hunk whined. “Lance, I know I shouldn’t be worried, I know you can take care of yourself, but I just can’t help but—”

“ _Hunk._ ”

Hunk sighed. “Fine.” He put his hands on his hips. “You know what? _Fine._ You want to hear a story? Well, sit down, because the muffins are in the oven, we’ve got about ten minutes, and I’m about to tell you a little story I like to call ‘What in the World Just Happened and Why Does it Smell So Bad?’”

Pidge inched backward on the couch until their back was pressed against the cushions. “Uh—”

“Nope,” said Hunk. “No interruptions. You wanted a story, you’re getting one. And it goes a little something like this.”

 

* * *

 

．．．ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｎｇ．．．

Ｕｓｅｒｎａｍｅ： Ｇａｓｔｒｏｐｈｙｓｉｃｉｓｔ

Ｐａｓｓｗｏｒｄ： ＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

．．．ｅｎｔｅｒｉｎｇ Ａｌｔｅａ．．．

Ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ ｔｏ Ａｌｔｅａ

Balmera opened up around Hunk like a flower and he immediately turned around, searching for Shay. He found her, as well as Sal, the Galra that had temporarily joined their party, watching the ceiling by their campsite.

“The Weblum?” asked Hunk, approaching them from behind. “Still? It’s been, what, like, three quintants?”

“Three and a few vargas,” said Sal, crossing his arms. “I never seen him act like this before. He normally roams as far as he can reach, eatin’ as much of the planet as he can get his teeth on. I don’t even think he’s eating anymore. It’s like he’s waitin’ for us.”

“Or for you,” said Shay quietly. “Perhaps it is because you were told to explore as much of the world as possible, and now it is inescapable, or perhaps there was a change made to its pattern so that it will attack player characters at random, and with you being the only player character, it can only attack you.”

Hunk grimaced. “Oh, man. So we’re stuck here?”

“Stuck, no,” said Shay. “I believe, however, that the way to proceed forward is to oppose the Weblum itself.”

“Whoa, _oppose_ the Weblum?” Hunk blanched. “Like, _fight it_? Isn’t it supposed to be, like, super, super big and scary and armored and basically impossible to defeat?”

“Lady, are you crazy?” demanded Sal, corroborating. “That thing will eat you alive! He’s eaten crumbs bigger than you and me combined!”

“Yes,” said Shay. “That is why I waited for Hunk to return before making the suggestion.”

“Wh— Me?” Hunk, if possible, paled even further. “ _No_. No no no. No way. Why me? What— What am I supposed to do? Cast healing spells at it? I’m not stronger than you. I’m definitely not faster, either.”

“But you are smarter.” Shay approached Hunk and, with the hand not occupied by her halberd, she reached for his hand. “I know in my heart that you can design a strategy that is clever enough to outsmart the Weblum. Perhaps with your help, we can overcome the Weblum without so much as raising our weapons against it.”

Hunk opened his mouth to protest.

But then he saw the look in Shay’s eyes. He saw hope, and he saw courage, and faith. She really trusted him.

And Hunk couldn’t imagine letting eyes like those down.

“Ohhh…” He sighed submissively. “Fine. Let’s just...take a look in our bags. Maybe we’ve got something that can help us.”

Sal sighed emphatically from behind Shay. “Reason can’t compete with that.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t feel bad, though, Kid. Men harder than you have been knocked down by women half as beautiful.”

Hunk blushed and yanked his hand away. “ _Uh—_ ”

“I’ll help you two,” said Sal. “But just in the strategy department. I’m not goin’ anywhere near that beast.”

Shay turned around and smiled warmly. “Thank you, Sal.”

“No problem, Kid.”

 

* * *

 

Hunk took a deep breath and looked behind himself to the bottom of the stairs.

“Good luck,” said Shay, gripping her halberd tight.

Hunk sent her a wobbly, nervous smile and looked back at the double doors that would lead him to the next floor.

The floor where the Weblum was waiting.

Hunk almost laughed. He was going up against the Weblum—this terrible, enormous beast Sal had warned them about—all by himself. He wasn’t even optimized for DPS or speed. He was a healer.

“Ohh, man,” he muttered under his breath, his voice wavering. “I am gonna die. This is where my first death is. Right here. No doubt about it.”

 _But…_ Hunk reached for the handles of the doors. _I’ll only respawn without my stuff. If Shay died instead…_

He pulled the doors open and took his first step onto the next floor.

He was met with a hallway, one that stretched from his right to his left like a river he was made to cross. Just like Sal said there would be.

Hunk warily crossed the hallway to the far side and pressed his hand against the wall. His MP began to decrease, and he felt a deep, deep rumble roll up his arm, telling him exactly where the Weblum was relative to where he stood.

It was to the west. Better than the east, but not by much.

Hunk took a deep breath and reached into his bag for his walking stick. It wouldn’t do much for him in the actual fight, but at least it could light his way.

He reached for the lantern hanging from the end and slowly pulled the lever that lifted the cap, uncovering the blue crystal inside and letting its light touch the walls.

“Okay,” said Hunk. “Enough stalling. Time to give this oversized worm a piece of my mind.” He gripped his walking stick tight in his right hand and adjusted his bag with his left. “Or, you know, a piece of my arm, if that’s what he gets his big, gnarly worm teeth on first.”

Hunk set his jaw and inhaled sharply through his nose.

If Shay still managed to get hurt after everything he was doing to keep that from happening, he was going to be really, really mad.

Not at her, of course. Just in general.

After walking for what felt like thirty minutes despite the real amount probably being closer to ten, the rumbling Hunk felt abruptly stopped.

So did Hunk.

He took his hand off the wall and quickly capped his lantern. He shoved his walking stick back into his bag as quickly as he could, but when he pressed his hand against the wall again, the rumbling had started up once more.

╔═════════════════════════════════╗

Ｂｕｆｆ： Ａｄｒｅｎａｌｉｎｅ Ｒｕｓｈ

ᴬᶰ ᵉᶰᵉᵐʸ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ˢᵗʳᵒᶰᵍᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃᶰ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃˢ ᵗᵃʳᵍᵉᵗᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘ

Ｅｆｆｅｃｔ： Ｓｔａｍｉｎａ Ｉｎｃｒｅａｓｅ

╚═════════════════════════════════╝

The chase was on.

Hunk turned around and began to run as fast as his legs could carry him, which he had to admit wasn’t all that fast. Not in the real world, and not in Altea, where he was stuck with a particularly slow class. But he didn’t have to run for long. The point wasn’t to outrun the Weblum. That would have been impossible, even if he were a Thief or a Rogue. The point just was to avoid winding up in the belly of the Weblum before he and Shay could carry out their plan.

It wasn’t long before Hunk no longer needed to use magic to feel the Weblum tunneling through the earth. He could feel it in his legs. He could hear it. And it felt exactly as big as Sal warned him it would be.

Hunk reached for his neck and scrabbled frantically for the chain under the collar of his garb.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered frantically, trying to pull the thin, delicate chain free of his clothes without slowing his stride. It bounced and shifted and got yanked back down by the strap of his bag, and Hunk had to resort to yanking the front of his shirt down and grabbing the pendant with his other hand.

It glimmered at him, catching light from seemingly nowhere Pale pink opal inlaid in gold. Hunk’s only hope for survival.

The sound of creaking stone joined the ranks of the rumbling. Hunk didn’t bother looking down at his feet to see whether the floor was splintering beneath him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to see it.

But he did look behind himself.

And he wished he hadn’t.

Because he saw the Weblum.

He saw its six glassy eyes.

He saw the dozens of sharp spines that poked out of its face in every direction.

He saw its mandibles, oddly still despite how quickly the creature was approaching.

And he saw it all illuminated by the blue glow building up in the beast’s mouth.

“Oh, no,” gasped Hunk between his oxygen-starved pants. “Oh, _no!_ ”

He jumped to the right wall of the corridor, his arm and his cheek scraping painfully against the stone wall, but the collision couldn’t have possibly been as painful as what Hunk had just narrowly avoided.

A blinding beam of light shot out of the Weblum’s mouth, blasting through the rocks at the end of the corridor and breaking down the wall at the end.

Hunk pushed off of the wall and picked up his pace, sprinting down the center of the corridor with all the strength left in his aching legs, headed for the opening that the Balmera had just made, the opening where a dim red glow was bleeding through.

Hunk stole one more look over his shoulder as quick as a flash. Only after he was facing forward again did Hunk realize what he had just seen.

The Weblum’s beaked mouth.

Just the mouth.

It was too close to see anything else.

“Oh, man, oh, man, oh, man—”

Hunk reached the end of the corridor, and he saw through the hole the Weblum had made with its attack, but there was no time to admire the magma-filled room from a bird’s eye view. There wasn’t even time to take a steeling breath. Hunk didn’t have a choice. He had to jump.

And jump he did.

The second his feet left the corridor, Hunk felt a wave of heat wash over him. He was sure that the same timer he’d seen when he and Shay tried to explore the room the first time was back, but at some point, he must have closed his eyes, and he didn’t have any desire to open them again and see the magma beneath him steadily drawing closer.

Hunk squeezed the pendant in his hand tight, tight enough that he felt the designs in the gold bite into his palm.

_Please, please, please, please, please—_

And the heat was gone.

Rising quickly to take its place, however, was a tremor. That, and a scream.

“Hunk!”

Before Hunk knew what was going on, a pair of cool, stony arms wrapped around him. A thunderous crash broke around him, and the arms held him tighter.

Then, slowly, bit by bit, the rumbling began to fade, and the arms holding Hunk relaxed.

“Are you all right?” came Shay’s voice.

Hunk warily opened his eyes, but all he saw was darkness. “Uh, yeah,” he said slowly. “But… What just happened?”

“There was a cave-in,” said Shay. “Be still, only for a moment.”

There was another rumble, this one much quieter, and the soft, blue light of the Balmeran crystals that lined the walls in the room where Hunk, Shay, and Sal had set up camp the day before illuminated Shay’s face, as well as the rubble that littered the cave floor all around them.

“Wow,” murmured Hunk, in awe of the destruction. “So, wait—” He looked back at Shay. “Are you okay? You didn’t, like—”

Shay shook her head, smiling. “I am well. The earth of Balmera protects her people. You need only ask.”

For the first time, Hunk noticed that four of the stones around them were the same shape, all triangles, and they lied in a pattern around Hunk and Shay, pointing outward like the petals of a flower.

“Okay,” said Hunk slowly, looking back at the other half of his party. “That’s...pretty cool, but I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Shay’s eyes softened in concern. “But you are not,” she said quietly, reaching toward Hunk’s cheek, but not quite touching it, her clawed fingers hovering less than an inch over Hunk’s face.

“Oh, yeah, forgot about that.” Hunk raised his eyebrows and sent Shay an assuring smile. “Don’t worry. Nothing a little White Potion au lait won’t fix.”

“That may be so,” said Shay, her face looming closer. “But I think, perhaps, I could encourage the healing.”

“Uhh…” Hunk cocked an eyebrow. “You’re a _Warrior_. How are you supposed to—?”

Shay kissed Hunk’s cheek, just a few millimeters away from the edge of his scrape.

And Hunk swore the world stopped. Just for a moment. And then it moved twice as fast when it picked up again, just as Shay reached for Hunk’s hand and started to pull him through the rubble.

“Come on,” she said. “We should inspect what is left of the Weblum. There is a chance that it dropped something of use.”

“Yeah…” said Hunk, who felt as though all the oxygen in Altea had just become half as dense. “Sure…”

When Hunk and Shay reached the entrance of the magma room, they immediately noticed a change in the atmosphere.

Most noticeably, the magma, which had cooled fast enough that it wasn’t really magma anymore. The obsidian land bridge no longer cut through death and fire, but through more yet more obsidian, which was only visible thanks to the glowing, glittering, confetti-like animation that followed the death of a boss.

Hunk exchanged a look with Shay, who raised her eyebrows at him.

“Is it safe?” she asked softly.

“It doesn’t seem hot,” said Hunk, frowning, “but maybe we should stick to the land bridge anyway. Just because it’s cool enough to harden doesn’t mean it’s cold enough to touch. I mean, cookie sheets don’t glow red when you take them out of the oven, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna do it without an oven mitt.”

“That was not my worry,” said Shay slowly. “Was the cooling of the magma intentional? Were we intended to lead Weblum to its end here?”

“Maybe?” Hunk shrugged. “Or maybe we really, really _weren’t_ supposed to kill the Weblum like that. Maybe something else was supposed to cool the magma and we accidentally triggered that by doing something crazy.” Hunk looked at the center of the room, where a large pile of rocks seemed to have landed directly on top of the Weblum. Apparently, the cave-in wasn’t just confined to the room Shay and Hunk had been in, but even keeping that in mind, it was strange that the stones had all landed exactly where the Weblum had.

“I’ll have to ask Shiro about it later,” said Hunk. “Until then, though, hey!” He leaned closer to Shay and pointed to the top of the pile, where the upper half of a staff poked out between a few large stones. “You were right about the Weblum dropping something cool. I wonder if I can use that. Man, I hope it’s not a Mage-only item or something. That’d suck.”

He slipped his hand out of Shay’s and began to jog along the narrow, twisting land-bridge, Shay not far behind him. When he reached the pile of stones, he began to climb, but Shay stayed behind.

“What is this?” asked Shay. Hunk looked over his shoulder to find her poking at some of the stones, which he hadn’t noticed before were different from the others, translucent with a blue tint, like sea glass. “I considered it possible that this was ice, that this was what cooled the magma, but there is no heat.” She turned the glass over in her hands. “I wonder… Perhaps this could be Scaultrite.”

“Scaultrite?” asked Hunk, continuing his climb to the top of the stone pile.

“A rare mineral,” said Shay. “I have heard it to be dropped by a rare and powerful monster. It never occurred to me that the rare and powerful monster could have been Weblum, but it is _possible,_ I suppose.”

“Well, we should probably keep it,” said Hunk, grunting as he climbed cautiously to his full height. “Whether it’s Scaultrite or not, it’s probably rare if it’s dropped by something like a Weblum, and I do _not_ want to fight another one of these guys again if I can help it. I _swear_ I could smell its— Aa- _ah_!”

The rock under Hunk’s feet wobbled dangerously and Hunk dropped back down to his knees with a nervous sound that landed somewhere between a sob and a nervous laugh.

“Hunk!”

“I’m fine!” said Hunk, his voice cracking. “Hahah, just a little...wobbly.”

“Be careful!” called Shay.

Hunk smiled a little in spite of himself. “What do you think I’m doing, huh?”

Warily, Hunk climbed back to his full height and reached up to the very top of the pile, where the staff was. He wrapped his hand around it, wiggled it firmly, and after a bit of struggling, grunting, and trying not to fall, he managed to pull the weapon free.

“Ha- _ha_!” He whooped triumphantly, holding the staff over his head. “I feel like I should be doing a fanfare right now, like I’m in an old game with, like, polygons and stuff. Like… Dah-nah-nah- _nah!_ You got the— Whatever this is!” Hunk laughed and began to climb back down to the floor, using the staff as a piton.

When Hunk reached the bottom, he made a slight miscalculation in exactly where the floor was and managed to stumble back, only to be caught in Shay’s arms again despite the fact that her hands were still full of glassy stones.

“Are you all right?” she asked gently.

“Oh, yeah, totally,” said Hunk, grinning. “Man, I still can’t believe we totally took on a frikkin’ Weblum and won. And we got a— Hold on, let me appraise this.”

He waited for Shay to release him, and once she had, he turned the staff over in his hand until an informative box popped into view.

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｓｃａｕｌｔｒｉｔｅ Ｓｔａｆｆ

Ｉｎｃｒｅａｓｅｓ ＭＰ ｂｙ ３０．

Ｉｎｃｒｅａｓｅｓ ＨＰ ｒｅｃｏｖｅｒｙ ｖｉａ ｓｐｅｌｌ ｂｙ １０%．

Ｉｎｃｒｅａｓｅｓ Ａｔｔａｃｋ ｂｙ ５．

ᵁˢᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵇʸ ᴴᵉᵃˡᵉʳˢ˒ ᶜˡᵉʳᶤᶜˢ˒ ˢᵃᵍᵉˢ˒ ᴺᵉᶜʳᵒᵐᵃᶰᶜᵉʳˢ˒ ᴰᵉᵛᵒᵗᵉᵉˢ˒ ᵃᶰᵈ ᴾᵃˡᵃᵈᶤᶰˢˑ

╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

“Hey, it _is_ Scaultrite!” said Hunk, inspecting the glassy embellishment at the tip of the spear and comparing it to the stone he’d seen Shay hold up before. “Man, maybe I’ll actually be halfway useful in a fight now. This increases attack. Like, not by much, but—”

“H-Hunk…” Shay’s hand wrapped gently, but firmly around Hunk’s upper arm and pulled him gently backward.

Hunk lifted his head from the staff, causing the pop-up to disappear immediately, and his attention snapped to the rock pile. “What? What is it? It’s not alive, is it? Tell me it’s not still alive!”

“No…” said Shay warily, still pulling Hunk backward. “But…”

It didn’t take long to figure out what Shay had noticed.

It looked almost as though the stones were bleeding. Black, inky sludge oozed out between the stones. It dripped down from one stone to the next, all the way down to the obsidian floor, where it pooled, spreading outward, closer and closer to Hunk’s feet.

And then came the smell. Rotten and sickly sweet, as if someone had lit a cigarette in the kitchen of someone who had been dead for months without being discovered, like decomposing flesh and rotting vegetables and burning tobacco.

“Ugh!” Hunk clapped a hand over his nose and mouth. “And I thought Sal’s cooking was bad. What _is_ that?”

“Perhaps Weblum is decomposing?” suggested Shay, sounding queasy herself. “It...certainly is vile.”

“How are you smelling it?” asked Hunk, looking behind himself at the girl who was pulling him back. “You don’t have a nose!”

“It is my mouth,” said Shay, wincing. “I can taste it.”

“Oh, _god,_ ” said Hunk, groaning sympathetically. “I am _so sorry_.”

There was a sudden garbled, wet sound, like bubbles from deep underwater, and Hunk quickly turned back around to face whatever was happening.

The sludge was pooling much faster, and it began to build on itself, climbing high like living refuse.

Shay yanked Hunk behind herself and drew her halberd, readying herself to fight.

Hunk gripped his new staff. He didn’t expect to need to try it out so soon, but it was there, and he might as well use it. Whatever the creature was—the Weblum’s ghost, some sort of lava monster, or something else entirely—he was ready for it.

The sludge began to take shape, though Hunk would have used the word “shape” very loosely. There were four legs, an arched back, and what looked like could have been horns or perhaps ears.

The creature moved closer, and Shay shifted, squaring her shoulders and seeming to block as much of Hunk from view as possible.

Two white, glowing flames appeared in the creature’s head in place of eyes, sending smoke spiraling upward. It stopped in front of Shay for a moment, waiting, watching.

And then, a text box appeared.

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ｔｈｉｓ Ｃｅｌｅｓｔｉａｌ Ｒｏｅ ｗｉｓｈｅｓ ｔｏ ｓｅｅ ｔｈｅ ｓｕｒｆａｃｅ．

Ｗｏｕｌｄ ｙｏｕ ｌｉｋｅ ｔｏ ａｄｄ ｔｈｉｓ ｃｒｅａｔｕｒｅ ｔｏ ｙｏｕｒ ｇｒｏｕｐ？

 

▶ＹＥＳ◀

 

ＮＯ

 

╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

“Uh… Are you seeing this?” asked Hunk. “The prompt?”

Shay nodded warily.

They exchanged glances.

“It’s too gross to be a trick,” said Hunk. “Unless, like, that’s what Matt and Shiro wanted us to think. Like, I don’t know either of them, but I know Pidge, and that sounds like something Pidge would do. Like, make something look shady as hell because there’s no way you _wouldn’t_ trust it, and then make it, like, actually a bad thing. But just because Pidge would totally do that doesn’t necessarily mean Matt would do that, but he might. Like, that sort of ‘flipping your expectations’ thing might run in the family. But what if that’s what they _wanted_ us to think? So it’s, like, a _triple_ trick. I don’t know, you probably know Matt and Shiro better than I do, Shay. What do you think?”

Shay, who seemed unperturbed by Hunk’s rambling, sighed, her shoulders sinking. “I think...that this one wishes to see the sky.” She turned her head and looked Hunk in the eye. “I know how this one feels.”

Hunk grimaced. “We’re gonna have to deal with the smell the whole rest of the way. You know that, right?”

Shay’s expression didn’t budge an inch.

Hunk sighed. “Okay. Guess we don’t have a choice, then.”

Both he and Shay lifted their hands, and together, they selected their answer.

▶ＹＥＳ◀

 

* * *

 

Lance and Pidge were still laughing by the end of the story.

“I’m— I’m sorry, _what_ did it smell like again?” asked Lance, wiping his eye.

“I’m serious!” squawked Hunk. “It was like someone died drinking burnt coffee and smoking a cigar in a Porta-Potty, and then the cigar fell out of their hands and landed on their clothes and set the whole thing on fire. It smelled _so bad._ ”

A fresh wave of laughter punched Lance in the gut.

“You opted to keep that smell for the rest of the way out of Balmera,” said Pidge, holding their muffin high over their head and pulling down on Bae Bae’s collar, trying to keep him from reaching the still-warm baked good before they could finish it. “You _voluntarily_ let that thing _join your party._ ”

“I know, right?” Lance grinned playfully. “All because Shay gave you puppy-dog eyes. You must be really serious about this girl. And, I mean, she seems pretty serious, too. She did give you a nice little rock kiss on the cheek.”

“That wasn’t—!” Hunk turned bright red. “She’s just— She’s a very sweet and sincere person, and it was totally platonic. That’s just the kind of person she is. And you guys would totally get that if you knew anything about her. She was just kissing my scratch to make it feel better.”

“Yeah,” said Pidge, smirking. “Instead of, you know, handing you a potion or something else that would _actually_ help.”

“Why are you ganging up on _me_?” demanded Hunk. “Lance is the one who—”

“Who falls for any pretty face he sees?” asked Pidge, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey!” protested Lance. “I do _not_ fall for _any pretty face_ _I see._ ”

“You fall for enough that teasing you about it got old years ago,” said Pidge. “Hunk’s actually a new target, and it’s fun to see him blush.”

“I can’t believe this,” lamented Hunk. “I go out of my way to make you guys banana muffins out of the goodness of my heart—”

“Yeah, with _my_ bananas,” argued Pidge. “And my flour and my salt— _Down, Bae Bae._ ”

“Well,” said Hunk, “technically it’s your _mom’s_ bananas and flour and stuff. Oh, by the way, make sure she eats at least one. I gotta know what she thinks.”

“You say that like anyone could ever resist Hunk-made anything,” said Pidge. “But, yeah, I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. Thanks, Hunk.”

“No problem,” said Hunk.

“How’s your mom doing, by the way?” asked Lance.

“I mean…” Pidge frowned. “She works a lot more than she used to. I think she’s still just trying to keep herself from thinking about Matt. And Dad.” They closed their eyes and took a deep breath. “But when she’s home, she seems happy enough. We eat dinner together and stuff. She’ll be okay.” They opened their eyes. “ _We’ll_ be okay.”

“If you guys ever need anything—”

“We’ll figure it out ourselves,” said Pidge. “But thanks for offering, Hunk.”

“Sure thing,” said Hunk. He stood up from the floor where they’d been sitting for the past half-hour and stretched his back. It popped audibly. “I’m gonna go ahead and start cleaning up.”

“Lance and I can get that,” said Pidge, tilting their head back to look up at Hunk. “You cooked. The least we can do after you made muffins. It’ll make up for the incessant teasing.”

“Aww, come on, I _hate—_ ”

“ _Lance_.”

Lance sighed. “Yeah, okay. I can...” He sighed dramatically. “Do _dishes._ ” He popped his last bite of muffin in his mouth and climbed to his feet. “Go shiddown, Hunk,” said Lance, garbled through a mouthful of banana muffin. “We got this.”

“Nice,” said Hunk, moving toward the living room. “In that case, _I’m_ gonna go beat Pidge’s score on ‘Taking Flight’.”

“You can try,” called Pidge. They rubbed Bae Bae’s head, stood up, and wiped their hands on their shorts.

Lance began gathering everything Hunk had used to make the muffins. The spoon, the bowl, the measuring cups, all balanced in his arms when he turned around and nearly bumped into Pidge, who was holding the muffin pan.

“I’ll wash,” they said, dropping the pan into the sink. “You just rinse and dry.”

Lance sighed in relief. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Or I don’t trust you to actually get everything clean,” said Pidge. “Take it how you want it.”

Lance set the dishes down in the side of the sink Pidge was filling with warm water and took his place on the other side.

On the counter to the right of the sink, tucked in the corner behind a set of decorative jars, sat a picture frame that glowed in the shadow of the cabinet above it.

Lance had seen the frame before. It was digital, as everything in the Holt household always seemed to be, even things that had no business being digital. Rather than holding a single picture, it displayed a slow-moving slideshow of pictures that changed once per hour.

In that moment, the picture was of a young Matt Holt in a tunic and a cloak with his arm wrapped around what seemed to be Shiro’s shoulders. He hardly looked like the Shiro Lance had met at the funeral. Even looking past the scars and the hair color and the visibly biological arm—not to mention the armored costume that complimented Matt’s—he seemed to carry an entirely different soul.

He was hunched over to compensate for the height difference between himself and Matt. He was laughing. There was a light in his eyes. He looked like the kind of person who could lose in a fist-fight and just laugh it off and tell the person who gave him the cut lip he was speaking with that he’d get them next time.

It was hard to believe that the boy in the picture and the man who sighed tiredly when Lance told him he found a way to clip through the corner of the Arusian Palace had ever been one and the same.

Pidge was right not to trust Lance with washing dishes. He was barely paying enough attention to the dishes to make sure the soap suds were gone. He just couldn’t take his eyes away from the picture.

It was bizarre. Lance knew he’d probably seen that photo at some point in all the years he’d known Pidge, but it was one thing to look at a photo and acknowledge that it was of Pidge’s brother with a stranger and something else entirely to look at that same photo and see two people who died in different ways after creating the world where Lance had spent most of his past month.

Lance couldn’t help wondering about Shiro. Whether he ever smiled like that anymore.

Did he spend all of his time working on Altea, wishing Matt could see what he was doing?

Did he ever laugh at stupid jokes on TV and forget that anything was wrong until the show was over?

Did he have a life outside of Matt and Altea? Did he have friends? A family? Or did he spend his whole time dwelling?

_Is that why he seems so tired all the time? Because no one is looking out for him? Or—_

The metal mixing bowl in Lance’s hands slipped from his fingers and crashed noisily against the inside of the stainless steel sink.

“What the hell was that?!”

“Jesus Christ, Lance!”

“Sorry!” Lance grabbed the mixing bowl out of the sink as if it would cause any further noise if he left it there. “Sorry, I was just—”

“What are you even—” Pidge peered around Lance, toward the picture frame he’d been staring at. “Uh, I know Allura’s pretty and all, but do you think you could, you know, not destroy my kitchen?”

“I wasn’t—” Lance looked back at the picture, which had just changed from the photo it had been before to a new one. It was more recent than the other picture, probably taken within the past two or three years. Shiro and Matt were in this one as well, but they weren’t the only ones. Shiro, still with black hair, still scar-free, sat between Matt and a pretty woman with silvery hair who must have been Allura. But it was who was behind them who caught Lance’s attention. Behind the kisses and Shiro’s bright red face and tense shoulders stood someone who was a great deal more familiar than anyone else in the photo.

It was Keith.

He was wearing a jacket and a t-shirt, and his hair was being blown around by the wind. And he was with Matt and Shiro.

And he looked happy. He was almost doubled over in laughter, and his eyes were squeezed shut by mirth, and he wore a smile that was wide enough to choke Lance’s heart.

There was no new information in the picture. Lance knew Keith had been close to Matt and Shiro. He knew that Keith was somewhere in the real world and wore clothes that were appropriate for the real world. He knew that Keith had to have been happy at some point before whatever was going on in Altea, before whatever falling out he’d had with Matt and Shiro.

But Lance realized, looking at the picture, that on some level, he hadn’t been thinking about Keith as a real person. He’d been thinking about Keith as a part of Altea. Part of the fantasy. He’d compartmentalized his life, and Keith fell into the category of magic and talking mice and mermaids and falling into freezing water more times than anyone should ever have to.

But Keith was part of the real world. He was out there somewhere. There was a chance they lived in the same _city_.

Lance began to dry his hands off with the towel he’d been using to dry the dishes. “Pidge, can I ask you something?”

“Uh…” Lance looked at Pidge and found them watching him warily. “I guess it depends on the question?”

Lance reached for the picture frame and held it in front of Pidge. “Who else is in this picture, besides Matt and Shiro?”

Pidge narrowed their eyes. “They were Matt’s friends. Why?”

“Were?” pressed Lance, ignoring Pidge’s question. “How long has that been past tense?”

“Uh, Lance?” Hunk was in the archway. Lance didn’t bother looking at him. “I don’t think you should—”

“They stopped being friends _before_ Matt died if that’s what you’re asking,” said Pidge, raising their voice. “Why does that matter?”

“Because I think I might have met one of them,” said Lance, trying to keep things vague for Keith’s sake.

“What?” Pidge narrowed their eyes. “No, you haven’t. There’s no way”

“Why can’t I?” asked Lance. “What makes that so hard to believe?”

“Because I’m pretty sure you haven’t left the country in the past couple of years,” said Pidge, “so Allura’s out, and Keith’s been _missing_ for over a _year—_ ”

“Oh, man, uh, Pidge?

“—so unless _you_ know something even _Shiro_ doesn’t—”

“Missing?” Lance’s heart slammed into his throat. “What do you mean _missing_? What happened?”

“I don’t know,” said Pidge sharply. “All I know is that Matt blamed himself. He felt awful about it, but he didn’t like to talk about it, so I never asked for details. I just—” They ran their hand through their hair and pulled at the strands between their fingers. “I just tried to make him feel better. That’s all I ever tried to do. It wasn’t my business. I never even _met_ Keith. I just wanted Matt to be happy! But there was nothing I could do! Why do you care?”

“Guys, listen, I know you’re both really sensitive right now—”

“Why do you care why I care?” demanded Lance, gripping the picture frame tight.

“Because it has to do with my brother!” shouted Pidge. “Why _wouldn’t_ I care?!”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with Matt!”

“Then what the hell is this about?!”

“That’s not any of your business!”

“The _hell_ it’s not my business!”

“ _Guys_!”

Hunk seemed to appear out of nowhere. He pushed himself between Lance and Pidge and shoved their shoulders back.

“Knock it off!” he said firmly. “Different rooms! Now! Pidge, your bedroom! Lance, bathroom! Go!”

“Fine,” growled Lance, pushing past Hunk and Pidge, the picture frame still in his hands.

When he reached the bathroom, he slammed the door behind himself. He was tempted to lock it, but he didn’t. He just sat down on the edge of the bathtub and looked down at the picture in his hands.

At Keith.

“Missing…” Lance pressed his forehead against the edge of the frame. “Fucking _missing._ ”

Minutes passed. Lance’s knee stopped bouncing. His shoulders relaxed. And with the frustration gone, the guilt started to set in.

There was a click, and Lance lifted his head when the bathroom door opened.

Hunk closed the door behind himself and waved.

“Hey, buddy,” he said softly. “Do, uh… Do I need to tell you what you did wrong?”

Lance scoffed. “No,” he mumbled. “I know I messed up. I know Matt’s still a touchy subject.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I just— I wasn’t thinking about it like it was about Matt, I was thinking about it like it was about—”

“Keith,” said Hunk calmly. “Yeah, I figured. But, see, to Pidge, there’s no way that they _couldn’t_ be connected. They don’t know about the whole...river thing. Or, uh… They didn’t, I mean.”

Lance raised his eyebrows.

_Oh. That._

He averted his eyes, then looked back at Hunk. “You told them about that?”

“I should have let you do it when you were ready,” said Hunk. “I know, but it just kind of… You know how Pidge is. They need solid information. I couldn’t think of a way to calm them down without explaining why you were upset.”

Lance sighed and climbed to his feet. “It’s fine,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s probably time they knew anyway.”

“Are you okay?” asked Hunk.

Lance looked down at the picture frame in his hands, then let his hand fall to his side, still holding onto it. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m okay.”

“Good,” said Hunk, reaching for the doorknob. “This is supposed to be our night to _unwind_ and _catch up_. I don’t want this to turn into ‘that one night everyone got in a big fight’ in our memories. I want us to be, you know, actual friends. Sound good?”

Lance sent Hunk a small smile. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Sounds great.”

Pidge was waiting for them in the living room. When Hunk and Lance stepped inside, they immediately stood from the couch and sought out Lance.

“Hey,” they said quietly.

“Hey,” said Lance, just as quiet. “I’m uh...sorry about… I know I was probably coming off as, like, trying to attack your brother. I know how weird that must have been without knowing why I was acting like that, and even if you did know, I shouldn’t have been aggressive. I was just...frustrated.” He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. “That doesn’t make yelling at you like that okay, though, so...I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I mean…” Pidge rubbed their elbow. “It makes more sense now that I know—” They gripped their sleeve. “You know, in all the years I’ve known you, I’ve known about your aquaphobia, but I never asked if anything happened to cause that. I just sort of accepted it as a part of you.”

“I probably wouldn’t have told you even if you asked,” admitted Lance. “Hunk only knows because my mom told him.”

Pidge sighed. They looked down at their feet, then back up to Lance. “You think it’s really...?”

“I… I don’t know,” said Lance, completely honest for the first time since he saw the picture. “I mean, I can’t shake the possibility, but…”

“But it’s not like you can find out now,” said Pidge. “Which is why you got so frustrated. I get it.” They sighed. “I’m so sorry, Lance. If I knew a year ago—”

Lance laughed gently. “If you knew a year ago, we could have talked about this like real humans instead of like idiots because we wouldn’t have been so high-strung.”

“That, too,” said Pidge, the corner of their mouth turning up into a lop-sided, half-hearted smile. “I’m sorry about that, too. The yelling.”

Lance shrugged and handed Pidge the picture frame. “So, we’re cool?”

Pidge took the frame, looked at it for a moment, then looked back up at Lance, smiling. “Cooler than cool.”

Lance couldn’t help grinning. “ _Ice cold_.”

Pidge snorted. “I think that joke is older than my mom.”

“ _Ice_ _old_ ,” said Lance in the exact same tone he’d just used.

Pidge started to laugh. And when Pidge started laughing, so did Lance. It was the sort of moment when they both needed to laugh so much that almost anything seemed funny.

A pair of warm, strong arms wrapped around them both without warning, pulling the two of them into a tight group hug.

“Brothers, man,” said Hunk, tears in his eyes. “Brothers, all the way.”

“Love you, too, big guy,” said Pidge. Lance reached up to pat Hunk on the back.

“Now let’s watch a movie or something,” said Hunk. “End this night the right way, with popcorn and surround sound.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Lance. “But, if I may, I’d like to make a request.”

“Go for it,” said Pidge.

“So I heard about this movie called _Look, Don’t Touch_ …”

 

* * *

 

Lance watched the dust particles dance on his ceiling in the morning light.

He took a deep breath and pushed himself onto his elbows.

He had another clue about Keith, but it still told him so little.

“Missing,” murmured Lance, sitting up and turning to let his legs dangle over the side. He’d been muttering the word to himself for the past twelve hours. It bothered him.

Keith was missing. At least, outside of Altea. Lance had made a joke before about the mafia kidnapping Keith and forcing him to play Shattering for some reason. Keith had gone oddly quiet when he’d made that joke. Was there some truth to that?

Or did it have something to do with Keith’s falling out? Pidge said that Matt blamed himself. Did Keith get mad and leave, only to get kidnapped? Or did he just...leave? Was that all there was to it? Did he just _leave_? But if so, why did he come back to Altea?

Lance stopped trying to smooth down the blankets of his bed and put his face in his hands.

“I’m not smart enough for this,” he grumbled, muffled by his own hands. He let those hands drop and frowned up at the ceiling. “I should just...stop thinking about it and wait for Keith to tell me what’s going on.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “If he ever does.”

Lance shook his head and walked to the door. If he ever needed Coran’s weird tea and chipper personality, it was then.

The second he reached the other side of his door, however, Lance noticed something unusual, something he wasn’t expecting.

He heard voices.

Warily, Lance made his way down the stairs. The voices sounded strangely hushed, almost reverent, like they were afraid of breaking the silence.

“Coran?” His feet hit the bottom step and he raised a hand to the archway that led to where the voices were coming from—the kitchen. “Is Slav back, or…?”

He stepped into the kitchen, and he froze.

At the kitchen table, across from Coran, drinking tea and sitting in Lance’s spot, more or less living out Lance’s usual morning routine, was…

“...Keith?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, uh...totally planned to release this largely Hunk-centric chapter on Hunk's birthday. Yep. Totally intentional. Completely. -cough-


	26. Quest

“Okay, laptop, shirts, pants, underwear, socks, toothpaste, toothbrush, hairbrush, shampoo just in case the stuff at the hotel sucks— Deodorant. Where’s my deodorant?”

Matt looked over his shoulder at his dresser. Sure enough.

“Of _course_ I almost forgot my deodorant,” he grumbled, standing from his bed and crossing the room. “Let’s try to think of something more embarrassing to forget, because that’s kind of difficult. Toothbrush might be worse. Underwear, probably. But deodorant is definitely up there.”

He grabbed the red-packaged antiperspirant and turned it over in his hands, glaring at it hard and making absolutely sure it knew what it had done, as if it were the reason Matt had almost spent the whole weekend sweating and smelly.

A ring at the doorbell caught Matt’s ear and he tossed his deodorant at the luggage that sat open on his bed—ensuring he didn’t forget it again—before rushing to the door and throwing it open.

Matt instantly recognized the person on the other side of the door, though only by reputation. He was a skinny teenager with short brown hair and a worn-looking green jacket, and Matt knew him from that description alone, but what really cemented the visitor’s identity for him was what he did as soon as he looked up from his phone and saw who had answered the door.

He swallowed, and his eyes widened, but only for a split second before his entire demeanor shifted. The shock was replaced with a mask of confidence Matt could see through in an instant. He looked Matt up and down, a slow smirk spread across his face, and he leaned against the doorframe.

“Hey,” he greeted in a voice that seemed too deep for his face. “You must be—”

“Very flattered, but too old for you?” Matt smirked right back, unimpressed. “Yes, I am.” He struck out a hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Lance.”

Again, Lance’s disposition changed. He sighed, stood up straight again, tucked his phone into his pocket, and met Matt’s hand with a much more sincere expression, a half-apologetic smile. “Yeah, it’s nice to meet you, too. Pidge talks about you all the time. I think they forgot to mention how good-looking you were, though.” A hint of the smirk was back, but there was more sincerity to it this time, and just a hint of humor.

“Yeah, well, no one could ever actually describe how gorgeous I am,” said Matt, taking his hand back and setting it on his hip. “They’d fail. I’m too beautiful to put into words.”

Lance gasped and put his hand over his heart with a melodramatic, sweeping gesture. “I’ve never met another person who truly understood that feeling. I hope you know we’re bonded for life after that.”

Matt’s smirk widened into a grin. “Is that so?”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules,” said Lance, shrugging.

Matt shook his head with a smile and stepped back from the door, gesturing for Lance to come in. “Pidge is trying to get a shower in before you guys leave for the decathlon.”

“I’m surprised you’re not coming,” said Lance, stepping inside. “Pidge always talks about you like you’re glued at the hip.”

“Yeah, well, I would, but I’ve got sort of a business trip this weekend.”

“Ugh, sounds boring.”

“Yeah, you say that—” Matt flopped onto the couch. “—not knowing that I’m going to Gen East to publicize a game I’ve been working on.”

Lance’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding me?!”

By the time Pidge was out of the shower, Lance and Matt were buried in conversation, and Matt had come to two conclusions.

The first was that Lance was his second choice for a beta tester.

As for the second…

“No, I’m serious!”

Shiro gave a long-suffering sigh and looked away from the traffic lights beyond their windshield to give Matt a tired frown. “I know your heart’s in the right place, but Keith isn’t going to be interested. I’m still surprised he gave you and Allura a chance.”

“Well, why did he?” asked Matt. “Did you bug him until he gave in?”

“He agreed because I knew you and Allura really well.” Shiro looked back through the windshield. “He trusts my opinion, but I don’t have an opinion on Lance. I haven’t met him. Why do you think he hasn’t agreed to meet Pidge yet?”

Matt furrowed his brow. “You’ve met Pidge, though.”

“Yeah, a few times,” said Shiro. “Not enough to have a real opinion of them. And Keith can tell. If _you_ talked to Keith about Pidge, that might be different, but I can’t say for sure. He’s known me his whole life and it still took a lot of convincing for him to meet my best friends.”

“Well,” Matt looked through the windshield as well. “Best friend and girlfriend now.”

“Not—” Shiro sighed again. “...Just because you start dating someone doesn’t mean they aren’t your best friend anymore. And if you’re any good at being friends, that’s something that’s going to stick around even if the romantic relationship doesn’t.”

“Yeah, but I mean, you and Allura don’t have anything to worry about.” Matt crossed his arms and shrugged. “You guys are perfect for each other.”

Shiro gripped the steering wheel. “...Yeah."

The light turned green and they resumed the drive to Keith’s house in silence.

 

* * *

 

Lance couldn’t stop staring.

Keith.

Keith was sitting in the inn’s kitchen.

Drinking tea with Coran.

Like it was something he did every morning.

All right, so maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. He did look a bit nervous. He sat up a little straighter when Lance walked in and he was shifting in his chair, but he was still just...sitting there.

“Hey.” He lifted a gloved hand from his teacup and waved cautiously.

Lance waved back. “Hey, uh…” His eyes darted across the table to where Coran was smiling pleasantly, completely unaffected by the tense air in the kitchen.

“Hey, Coran?” Lance marched to his seat. “Can I talk to you for a second? Like, now? _Right_ now?”

“Well, yes, you can, but—”

Lance grabbed Coran’s arm and yanked him out of his chair. “ _Great._ ”

He dragged Coran through the kitchen, into the hallway, and halfway up the stairs, until he was fairly sure he was out of Keith’s earshot, at least if he kept his voice low.

“Is this really necessary?” asked Coran, cocking a ginger eyebrow.

“Yes!” hissed Lance. “Yes, it is! _Why is Keith here?_ ”

“He said he wanted to talk to you,” said Coran, eyebrow still raised. “I didn’t pry, merely told him you would most likely come downstairs in the morning.”

“In the morning?” Lance paled. “Wait, wait, wait— How long has he been here?”

“A few vargas—”

“A few _vargas?_ ” Lance ran a hand through his hair, pulling strands anxiously. “How many is a _few?_ ”

“Around three,” said Coran.

“Three.” Lance groaned and buried his face in his hands. “He’s been waiting almost an _hour?_ ” He quickly lifted his head from his hands. “Quick, Coran, how does my hair look?”

Coran blinked, taken aback, and a slow smile began to curl under his mustache. “Oh?”

“‘Oh’ what?” demanded Lance, still doing his best to keep his voice low and perhaps only half-succeeding.

“You, ah…” Coran clasped his hands behind his back and leaned forward. “You fancy him?”

“What?!” Lance recoiled, despite the fact that there wasn’t much room to do so in the narrow stairway. His back hit the wall, knocking a painting of King Groggery the Infirm askew and causing it to clatter noisily. “ _No_! I do _not_!”

“There’s no shame in it,” said Coran, straightening his back. “He’s a fine young man. Brave, selfless—”

Lance laughed harshly and pointed at Coran’s chest. “He’s a _mess_ who keeps getting himself into _trouble_.”

“Well, then you have that in common,” said Coran, matter-of-fact. “Let’s be honest, Lance. You’ve been showing interest in Keith for _phoebes._ It just never occurred to me that the interest might have been romantic until now.”

“And it _shouldn’t_ have occurred to you,” said Lance firmly. “Because it’s _not_. Not even _close_.”

“Which is why you dragged me out of the kitchen to assess the state of your appearance.” Coran smirked confidently. “Yes, that does explain—”

“I don’t want to look bad in front of what’s basically Altea’s own personal Batman _,_ ” said Lance. “What, is that a crime now?”

“You mean you don’t want to look bad in front of an alleged mess,” said Coran. “You seem very keen on making a good impression on someone who apparently doesn’t impress you in the slightest.”

“I said he’s a _mess_ ,” said Lance, pressing his finger against the end of Coran’s nose. “I didn’t say he’s not, like, _culturally important_. Which he is. And that’s a perfectly good reason to want to not look like a mess!” Lance crossed his arms. “He’s also been waiting for a while and I didn’t want to be, you know, _rude_.”

“You groaned loud enough to wake all of Arus your first day here because I dared to teach you a bit about the world,” said Coran. “Since when have you ever been worried about seeming rude?”

“Hey!”

“Do you find Keith _unattractive?_ ” asked Coran, crossing his arms and effectively mirroring Lance.

“I—” Lance quickly closed his mouth and shrugged. “He’s... _fine_ , I guess. I mean, his _hair’s_ a disaster, but—”

“Fine?” asked Coran, cocking his eyebrow again. “Or _fine?_ ”

Lance squawked. “You—! I don’t have to take this!” He began to stomp down the stairs.

“To answer your question from earlier,” said Coran, “your hair _did_ look fine before, but now, thanks to your nervous habits, it looks like a runway for long-beaked seaspurs.”

Lance’s eyes snapped open wide and he whipped around. “ _Fix it_.”

 

* * *

 

Waiting was hard enough when Keith was just waiting for Lance to log on.

Having Lance log on only to drag Coran out of the room and have a hushed conversation on the stairs was absolutely nerve-wracking.

Keith watched his reflection in the surface of his drink, doing his best to ignore the voices despite the fact that he swore he heard his own name more than once.

He wasn’t thinking about the possibility that Lance could hate him for forcing him to dive in cold water.

He wasn’t thinking about Lance’s frightening outburst in the cave.

He wasn’t thinking about how Lance had had to save him multiple times despite the fact that he was a lower level than Keith and had been in Altea for less than a tenth of the time Keith had been there.

He wasn’t thinking about any of that.

Really.

At the sound of footsteps, Keith set his cup down and lifted his head.

Lance was in the archway of the kitchen, his shoulders tense.

“Where’s Coran?” asked Keith.

“Oh, him? He, uh…” Lance cleared his throat. “He’s dusting. Yeah, I mean, he’s an innkeeper, and it’s not like there are any maids or anything, so…”

Keith furrowed his brow. “There’s no dust in Altea.”

Lance opened his mouth briefly, then shut it again, looking even more nervous than he had before.

“Forget about it.” Keith stood from his chair. Coran was harmless and whatever he was really doing wasn’t Keith’s business. “Lance, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh, really?” Lance shrugged one shoulder. “And here I thought you and Coran had some kind of secret friendship going on. I mean, you did kind of say you wouldn’t be caught dead here.”

“What?” Keith frowned. “I never said that.”

Lance didn’t look impressed. “I think your exact words were, ‘Don’t get your hopes up.’”

Keith winced at the mocking tone. “Well… Maybe I changed my mind.”

“I mean, clearly,” said Lance, crossing his arms. “You wouldn’t be here otherwise, right?”

Keith looked down at the floor. “I guess not.”

“So what did you want to talk about?” asked Lance.

“Well…” Keith hesitated. “We need to go somewhere first, and we’re sort of late, so we should probably hurry.”

“Late?” asked Lance. “For what?”

 

* * *

 

Lance watched Keith from the safety of the bridge.

The water wasn’t deep. Lance himself had voluntarily run through it his first day in Altea. It was safe enough.

But Lance had been in his rogue clothes then. The water barely touched his cuffs. A mage’s robes were going to absorb a lot of water, resulting in a lot of weight and a lot of cold, and Lance wasn’t ready for that experience just yet.

Keith, however, seemed right at home in the water, despite the fact that he was wearing heavy armor himself, much of it made of flowing cloth.

Lance envied that ease.

Not long after Keith stepped foot into the water, she appeared, slithering almost snakelike from under the bridge Lance was standing on.

The water seemed too shallow for her.

“That took longer than I thought,” said Swirn, rolling onto her back. It was weird, being able to hear her voice so clearly, but Lance was grateful to be able to understand her for once.

“Sorry about that,” said Keith. “It’s important that Lance hears this.”

“Uh, hey,” said Lance quietly, crossing his arms over the railing and leaning as far over the edge of the bridge as he dared to go. “I like your tail.”

Swirn flicked her spotted tail in the shallow water. “So do I,” she said, unsmiling. “I wish I had more room to use it.”

“There are lakes in southern Arus,” offered Keith.

“In the woods?” Swirn scoffed. “I’ll take the streams.”

“Well…” Keith took a seat on the bank, apparently unbothered by the mud. “Hopefully, you won’t have to settle for too much longer.”

Swirn rested her hands on her stomach, fingers laced together. She looked like a corpse in a casket, like her soul had died and she was just waiting for her body to catch up. Nothing like the unstoppable rebel Lance had seen on the ship.

_What happened?_

“I’m sorry to have to ask you this,” said Keith, “but the more I know, the more I might be able to help, so—”

“Lightning,” said Swirn sharply. “One of their commanders had a knife with a hollow chamber in the handle. When Plaxum was hit, it looked like she had been attacked by a weapon imbued with lightning magic, but the lightning was black. It seemed to cut into visible light itself.”

Lance grabbed his elbows. Something about that description made his hair stand on end.

“It was like her soul was ripped out of her,” said Swirn. “There was an almost heavenly blue light for a moment, and then she was gone.” Her eyes closed. “Nothing but dust. I assume the same thing happened to Blumfump.”

“ _What—_ ”

“And they didn’t respawn?” asked Keith, cutting Lance off. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” said Swirn. “If they were, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be back on the mountain, fighting to take my home back.”

Lance watched Keith close his eyes and take a deep, heavy breath. His melancholy acceptance felt like a kick to Lance’s gut. It was like…

Like Keith had seen this before.

“Thank you,” said Keith, standing from the riverbank. “I’m sorry about what happened to Plaxum and Blumfump, but you’re not—”

“Don’t say I’m not alone,” snapped Swirn, turning her head to glare at Keith from under the water. “My entire community is gone, either mindswished or dead. Plaxum and Blumfump were my friends, and they’re gone. We were the only three left, and now I am the only _one_ left. You could never even pretend to know loneliness like this.”

“You don’t know anything about me!”

Lance stood away from the railing. That was sudden. “Uh, Keith—”

“You want loneliness?” The water splashed as Keith took a harsh step forward. “Try feeling the way you feel right now for a year!”

Lance pushed away from the bridge and ran down to the edge of the water. “Keith! Cool it!”

“You’re the one who doesn’t know what it’s like to be alone!” Keith loomed over Swirn. “At least Plaxum and Blumfump wanted to be with you! At least they were _ripped_ from you! You want to know what loneliness is like? Try being hated!”

Lance grabbed Keith’s wrist. “K—”

“Don’t touch me!”

Lance yanked his hand back, and Keith turned away. Without looking at Lance even once, he stormed away from the river.

Lance watched him find a nearby tree and slam his fist against it before sliding down to the ground.

Shaking his head, Lance turned back to Swirn.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be,” said Swirn. “He’s not your responsibility.”

Lance sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He’d stopped believing that a long time ago. “Do you mind if I ask one more question?”

“Fire away,” said Swirn, sounding bitter.

Lance considered kneeling in the water for a moment before deciding instead to put his hands on his knees. At least he was a _little_ closer to Swirn’s eye-level. “How did you survive? I mean, I know Haxus was the only creep still alive, but you’re a Healer.”

Swirn met Lance’s gaze. “The Blade of Marmora.”

Lance furrowed his brow.

"A team of masked Galra," said Swirn. "They're not like the Empire, though. They're on our side."

"Oh." Lance frowned. “I think one of them helped me into the village.”

“Before you got your butt handed to you, you mean?”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, real funny.”

Swirn sighed. A stream of bubbles floated from her mouth to the surface. “It was probably the same member who helped me. They showed up out of nowhere the second you jumped into the water.” Her eyes narrowed. “How did _you_ survive? Even if you respawned, he wouldn’t be here.” She nodded in the direction of the tree where Keith sat. “How did you escape the Baku?”

“I have no idea,” admitted Lance. “It’s sort of a blur. It’s like I blinked and I was somewhere else. I remember jumping in and finding Keith at the bottom, and I remember this big snake thing swimming away.” He shrugged. “That’s about it. It’s like I lost frames or something.”

“Count yourself lucky,” said Swirn. “The less you know about the Baku, the better.”

Lance sighed and stood up straight. “I’m...sorry about leaving you alone on the boat. And I’m sorry about Plaxum and Blumfump. They seemed cool. I wish I could have gotten to know them better.”

Swirn closed her eyes and took a deep breath under the water. “They _were_ cool.” When she opened her eyes again, they were on Lance. “You remind me of Plaxum. She would have liked you.”

Lance managed a half-smile for Swirn’s sake. “I’m sure I would have liked her, too.”

Swirn rolled onto her stomach and pressed her hands to the bottom of the river. She really needed more water.

“Check on your friend,” she said. “He might have been a jerk, but it was thanks to both of you that Plaxum and Blumfump went down fighting. Better that than prisoners under the deck of a Galra ship.”

“Got it,” said Lance.

Without another word, Swirn released the river stones and headed downstream.

As soon as Lance was out of the water, his hands were on the ends of his robes, wringing them out and getting them as dry as possible while his eyes occupied themselves with a red pauldron, part of a fauld, and a few locks of black hair.

Lance released the ends of his robes and made his way to the tree, where Keith’s hands were hovered in mid-air, presumably over an interface Lance couldn’t see.

“Hey, Man,” said Lance, cautiously kneeling beside Keith, his hand sliding down the tree’s trunk.

“I’m apologizing now,” said Keith. “You don’t have to tell me to do that.”

“I wasn’t going to,” said Lance. “I mean, I know you’re a jerk sometimes, but I also know that you’re the kind of guy who runs into burning buildings to save two-foot-tall lizard people, so…”

Keith sighed and hit an invisible button before letting his hands fall to his lap. “...Thank you,” he said quietly. “For stepping in. Someone needed to.”

“Is that why you wanted me to come?” asked Lance. “Like, did something like this go badly before, or…?”

“No.” Keith narrowed his eyes at his knees. “But you doing that sort of...cemented a decision I already made.”

Lance averted his eyes and slowly, cautiously looked back at Keith. “Which is…?”

Keith climbed to his feet. “There’s one more thing I need to show you.” He reached into his bag. “At my house. If you’re okay with that.”

Lance held out his hand and waited for the potion. “I’m in this deep. Might as well.”

 

* * *

 

Keith looked at the top of the gate and turned around. “Do you want to try the water magic task?”

Lance shrugged. “Your thing is faster, right?” He set one hand on his bag and offered the other. “If I ever have to come through here alone, I’ll do the whole storytelling thing then.”

Keith looked down at the offered hand. “Right…” He turned back to the door and brushed his fingertips over the wood. The door responded by glowing a faint red.

Keith reached for Lance’s hand.

The doors opened.

With Lance’s hand in his, Keith stepped into the darkness.

Keith closed his eyes. There was no point in keeping them open when he couldn’t see anything.

All he could hear was the footsteps that echoed through the dark tunnel.

All he could feel was Lance’s hand.

Keith didn’t get much human contact anymore.

The Arusians were huggers, and that was nice, but it wasn’t the same as real human interaction.

Lance’s fingers were cold. When Keith squeezed his hand, he could feel Lance’s knuckles move under his thumb and middle finger. And Lance squeezed back.

Keith couldn’t help worrying that the only thing that waited on the other side of the tunnel was the permanent loss of that contact.

 _This shouldn’t be hard._ Keith’s brow twitched. _If he says yes, that’s good. If he doesn’t, nothing changes. It’s not a big deal. Why am I letting this bother me?_

“Hey, uh… You okay?”

Keith looked toward the direction of Lance’s echoing voice despite the fact that he couldn’t see anything. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No particular reason,” said Lance. “Just trying to figure out why you’re trying to juice my hand.”

“Juice—? Oh.” Keith became suddenly aware of how tight his grip was. “Sorry.” He relaxed his hand. “I didn’t know I was doing that.”

“I kind of guessed,” said Lance. “Seriously, though, you better be about to show me a murder den or something, because nothing short of chains and blood-splattered walls should have you this bugged.”

“I know,” admitted Keith.

“ _Are_ you about to show me a murder den?” asked Lance.

“No,” said Keith.

“So maybe breathe?” Lance nudged Keith with what felt like his shoulder. “It’s not like I’m going to hurt you. Not on purpose, anyway. “

“You can’t say that without knowing what you’ll see,” said Keith.

“Shiro still doesn’t know you’re here,” said Lance. “If I can keep that secret, I think I can take whatever you’re about to show me in stride.”

Keith squeezed Lance’s hand, just briefly this time before slackening his fingers.

“I guess you’re right.”

 

* * *

 

On the upside, Keith didn’t have a second basement he didn’t tell Lance about where he kept the severed heads of his enemies. Basements were generally underground, and Keith was absolutely leading Lance upstairs, not downstairs.

At first, Lance thought he was being led back to Keith’s bedroom, but at the top of the stairs, Keith turned and put his hand on the wall.

Like the gate that protected Arus, the wall glowed a faint red, and a door appeared.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Uh, how…?”

“There’s a ritual,” said Keith, reaching for the doorknob that had just appeared. “Same thing as a shaman ritual. If you know how to do it and you have the right materials, you don’t need magic.”

He pushed the door open.

The room inside was plain. Almost comically empty. If dust could accumulate in Altea, Lance was sure everything that _was_ in the room would have been covered in dust. It all seemed rarely touched. As it was, however, the few belongings that occupied the plain room were clean.

There was a table with one chair, an unlit candle, a window that let light in, and some sort of wall hanging covered with a sheet.

Keith began to walk toward the wall hanging.

 _Don’t be something creepy,_ pleaded Lance, trying his hardest to keep his expression neutral. _Please don’t be something creepy. I don’t know if I can handle creepy._

The sheet came down in one quick tug of Keith’s hands, revealing something that was, admittedly, a little creepy, but not in the way Lance had been expecting.

It was a makeshift corkboard made from an arrangement of overlapped cork stoppers, the same kind that had been used to cap the potions Lance had been drinking since he’d first entered the game.

Pinned to the arranged corks were maps, sketches, notes, all tied to one another with colored thread.

“All right, I have to admit, this is pretty weird.” Lance crossed his arms and shifted his weight. “What _is_ all of this?”

“You wanted to know what I’ve been doing in Altea,” said Keith, folding the sheet over his arm. “This is it.”

“Okay, see, that’s great, but that doesn’t tell me anything.” Lance scrutinized the notes and the sketches, trying to find a pattern. There was a lot of shorthand in the notes. Some pins were tied to notes, some weren’t. Some of them were painted different colors. Some places on the map were circled.

One of the circles was enormous. It took up maybe a fifth or sixth of the entire Arusian kingdom. A black pin had been pushed into the very center, and there was a string around it that led to what seemed to be a page ripped from a book.

The creature the page illustrated gave Lance goosebumps. There was no mistaking the Baku now that he’d seen it.

It was the northern part of Arus. Mermaid country.

Lance’s hand hovered over the black pin, then began to move down the map.

In doing so, Lance became acutely aware of exactly how many red pins there were on the map.

And they weren’t all localized to Arus, either.

There were red pins scattered across Olkarion, several in a straight line in Daibazaal, several on an untitled map Lance could surmise was Balmera based on what he knew about it from Hunk. Many of the red pins were inside of circles. There was a circle in West Olkarion as big as the circle around North Arus. Daibazaal seemed to be more circle than country.

Lance followed a string that led from a pin on the west side of Arus to one of Keith’s sketches. It was hard to tell—it seemed like Keith had just been trying to get the drawing down in a hurry—but it seemed to be of a collapsed house. Perhaps a burned one.

Lance let his hand fall from the corkboard.

“Galra activity?” he asked.

“...Yeah.”

Lance turned around and found Keith gripping the sheet in his hands like he wanted to rip it in half.

“I’m guessing the circles are big attacks,” said Lance.

“Environmental attacks,” said Keith. “Forests that were burned down. Villages that were destroyed.”

“Mass-brainwashing?” offered Lance.

“Right.” Keith tossed the sheet at the table, nearly knocking down the candle in the process.

Lance looked back at the corkboard. “What are the red pins?”

Keith didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked to the corkboard, stopped in front of it, and reached into his bag.

From his bag, he withdrew what looked like an old matchbox, slid it open, and pulled out two red pins.

Without a word, without a sigh, Keith pushed both red pins into the circle around northern Arus.

Lance’s eyes widened. He had a suspicion, but it was one thing to worry and something else entirely to have those worries confirmed.

“It’s Zarkon,” said Keith, dropping his eyes to the box of pins in his hand. “I don’t know why, and what Swirn said about the black lightning today is the closest I’ve ever gotten to how, but I know it’s him.”

Lance’s first instinct was to make a joke, to lighten the mood somehow, but he looked at the map, at the countless number of red pins, and all he could do was run a hand down his face.

“So that’s why you’re here,” murmured Lance. “You’re saving Alteans.”

“I’m almost out of red pins,” said Keith, dropping the box back into his bag. “I’ll need to buy another box soon. If I was really saving Alteans, I wouldn’t need to buy any red pins at all.”

“Well, maybe you should get another color while you’re at it,” said Lance, crossing his arms.

Keith lifted his head. “For what?”

“Well, you’ve got red pins,” said Lance, gesturing to the corkboard. “And then you’ve got black, which I’m guessing is attacks or something, and blue, which is, what, Galra sightings?”

Keith nodded.

“So get green next time,” said Lance. “Or white or yellow or pink or whatever, and put one right here—” He pointed between the two red pins in northern Arus. “For Swirn. And here—” He pointed at the village. “That’s the baker. And down here?” Lance pointed at the forest to the south. “That’s where you saved me from the Draugrs. And, like, sure, maybe I would have just respawned, but you still went out of your way to save me. And that was a big deal to me.”

“Lance—”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” said Lance, whipping around. “Because I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to say that it doesn’t even put a dent in all the red, or that it doesn’t matter how many people you’ve saved because the Galra have killed ten times that. But it matters to them.”

He reached back and rapped a knuckle against the corkboard. “I don’t know how many people you’ve actually saved, but it’s enough that I knew you by reputation first. The people of Arus all know who you are. You’re the Red Warrior, this—this _superhero_ everyone knows is out there, even if they’ve never seen you before. I haven’t met a single Arusian who doesn’t talk about you like you’re some great protector of the people.”

“That’s just—”

“Hut-tut-tut!” Lance raised a finger. “I don’t think so. No, actually _think_ about everything you’ve done for everyone. Even I have to admit, you’re doing a hell of a job for one person going up against an entire army. You’re _slowing down an attempted genocide._ Think about that.”

And Keith did seem to be thinking. He didn’t try to interrupt Lance again. He didn’t try to think of an excuse. He simply leaned his hips against the table behind him and lowered his head.

“Look, we don’t always get along,” said Lance. “We’ve butted heads. I know that. But just because we don’t agree all the time doesn’t mean I don’t respect you. You’re a good guy doing good things.” He crossed his arms and shrugged. “I wouldn’t jump into a freezing cold lake for just anyone, you know.”

“I know,” said Keith, his eyes still on the floor. “That’s...actually why I brought you here.”

Lance frowned. “Come again?”

“You saved me.” Keith raised his head. “You had to jump into water that was cold enough to be frozen to save me, and you did it anyway. I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for you.”

“Okay, where is this going?” asked Lance, raising an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t just in the lake, either,” continued Keith. “When you found out I was captured, you followed me and tried to save me. You got captured in the process, but you were the one who thought of a plan to escape. And once we were above deck, you had my back in the fight.”

“Well, yeah,” said Lance. “We were a team.”

“Exactly,” said Keith. He pushed away from the table he’d been leaning against. “I’ve been doing this by myself for the past year. I’ve never had someone I could rely on in a fight before.”

“Well, it wasn’t just me,” said Lance, shrugging. “Plaxum and Blumfump and Swirn were all pulling their weight.”

“Yeah, well…” Keith crossed his arms. “Plaxum and Blumfump are gone now, and Swirn…”

Keith didn’t need to say it. He and Lance had both seen the way Swirn had looked in that river. “Right.”

“Besides,” said Keith, “they were the last members of a rebellion that’s disbanded now. You weren’t fighting as part of a group. You chose to fight on your own.”

“I just wanted to help you,” said Lance.

“I know,” said Keith. “Which is why I’m sort of...hoping you’ll do it again.”

Lance uncrossed his arms, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You said that what I was doing was impressive for one person against an army,” said Keith. “If you’re up to it…” He offered his hand. “I’d like to see what two people can do.”

Lance eyed the hand, then looked back up to Keith’s face. “You...want _me_ to join _you_.”

“I know this is a big decision. It’s still just two people against an army, and I’ll understand if you refuse, but…” Keith pursed his lips, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, just for a brief moment. When he opened them again, Lance noticed something in them that he’d somehow missed before: Vulnerability. “I trust you.”

Lance looked back at Keith’s hand, and without wasting a second longer on hesitation, he reached out to grasp it.

Keith raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“You act like I could have said no,” said Lance. “Come on, we’ve been actively saving each other’s butts for weeks now. The least we can do is make communication a part of the process, right?”

Keith smiled. Really smiled. And it wasn’t anything like the half-broken smile in front of the fire after Lance pulled him out of the lake, or the split-second relief Lance caught in their battle on the Galra ship, or even like the laugh Lance had somehow coaxed out of Keith in front of Matt’s shrine.

It was warm and fond and kind and soft and it made Lance’s stomach tie into more knots than he thought was possible.

“Thank you, Lance,” said Keith, blissfully unaware of what he was doing to Lance’s insides.

Lance, lip quivering, smiled back. “Sure,” he managed, miraculously without his voice cracking. “No problem.”

 _Yeah, no problem, as long as he doesn’t_ smile _like that again._

Keith pulled his hand back and headed for the door. “Come on. If we’re taking on Zarkon, you’re going to want to be as strong as you can get. That means better armor and better skills. You still only have offensive magic, right?”

“I’ve only found one of the mice, if that’s what you mean,” said Lance, cautiously following a few steps behind.

“Okay,” said Keith, looking over his shoulder as he reached for the doorknob. “Then that’s a good place to start.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance still can't keep his priorities straight.  
> His priorities are bi.  
> Very, very bi.  
> [Have Lance flipping off the rain from the last chapter, courtesy of my good buddy Penaultimate.](https://penaultimate.tumblr.com/post/170428620293/lance-glared-into-the-clouds-and-slowly)


	27. Experience

“What?! No-no-no-no-no, you’ve got it all wrong! Not even close! No!”

Rolo appraised Matt for a long moment, glanced toward the elevators where Shiro stood with Keith, then turned back toward Matt, an unimpressed eyebrow raised. “...Okay.”

Matt couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so embarrassed. It took more willpower than he wanted to admit just to keep himself from burying his face in his hands. At least it was late enough in the day that the crowds had dissipated and Rolo was the only one at the booth. “What would even make you think—? We’re just friends! And, you know, business partners.”

Rolo crossed his arms and shifted his weight. “All right, then.” He took a step toward the elevators. “In that case, you won’t mind if I talk to him.”

“Talk to—” Matt’s eyes widened. “What do you mean _talk to him_?”

Rolo shrugged casually. “He’s a good-looking guy. Now that I know he’s single—”

“He’s not!” said Matt, perhaps just a little too quick.

Rolo turned back toward Matt, just as unimpressed as before.

“He...has a girlfriend,” said Matt. “And they’re very happy together. Trust me. So if you’re not here for the demo, you can just...go. He’s not interested.”

Rolo shrugged one shoulder. “All right. It’s about time you told me the truth about something. I’ll bite. Give me the keyboard.”

Matt tapped the corner of the table near the keyboard, his brow furrowed. It creeped him out, how perceptive Rolo seemed to be. “It’s all yours.”

Rolo, unshaken by Matt’s glare, walked up to the table and rested his hands on the keys. He scrutinized the screen for a moment, his gaze lingering on Matt’s bored-looking digital replica, and he typed a message.

_So, you and that Shiro guy. Are you guys together?_

Matt α’s eyes widened. “What?! You can’t just—!”

Rolo hit the enter key.

Matt β turned his attention on the screen as the message Rolo had sent appeared just behind the screen’s view.

And Matt α got a third-person view of what his own face must have looked like just a few moments prior when Rolo had asked him the exact same question.

Matt β froze. His eyes widened. He turned red very, very quickly. His jaw dropped.

“What?! No-no-no-no-no, you’ve got it all wrong! Not even close! No!”

Rolo smirked and leaned back as Matt β began to stammer out everything Matt α had just said almost verbatim.

“So.” Rolo looked past the display at Matt α’s face. “You don’t just have an identical twin with a camera somewhere. This is the real deal.”

Again, Matt α’s face turned red, though this was for an entirely different reason than the time before. “You were trying to see if this was a scam? _That’s_ why you asked if I was dating Shiro?”

“I knew it’d get a genuine response out of you.” Rolo nodded toward the screen, where Matt β still seemed close to short-circuiting. “And if it got the same response out of something that was supposed to be a copy of you, not someone just pretending to be you, then there’d be no denying that this is the genuine article.” He appraised the screen again. “I gotta say, this is some nice tech.”

Matt groaned and fell backward into the cheap, plastic chair he’d been sitting in all day. “You’re the worst.”

“I get that a lot,” said Rolo. “But I also get the information I need.”

“The information you need for what?” asked Matt, a curious frown tugging at his lips.

“You’re still kinda early in production, right?” asked Rolo. “So I’m guessing this guy is probably your only character.”

“Well, we have a few more,” said Matt, sitting up a little straighter. “Just family friends and stuff, though. Why?”

Rolo crossed his arms and shrugged. “I get around a lot, and I happen to know a few actors. Renaissance fair types. I know they’d be interested. And now that I know I can recommend your game with a clear conscience, I’d be happy to get you connected.” He dropped his gaze. “You’ve got a lot of brains, Matt. You’d have to in order to get a rig like this up and running. But it’s not just about what you know. It’s also about who you know.”

Matt narrowed his eyes. “How many actors are we talking here?”

“Personally, I know enough for a whole fair,” said Rolo. “Maybe a few fairs. But the people I’m going to hook you up with are bound to know people I don’t. Birds of a feather, you know? You get one guy, you get all his friends.”

Matt’s eyes narrowed even further. “Why are you talking about this like it’s a pyramid scheme?”

“It’s not a pyramid scheme if they’re not putting money into it,” said Rolo, shrugging again. “It’s just a web. The only thing they’d sacrifice is time. Spending however long it takes to record their input isn’t going to ruin their lives. It’s less than a day, right?”

“It’s about eight hours,” said Matt, his interest piqued. “And those eight hours can be split up into smaller chunks if necessary.”

“Then there’s no real consequence to getting a couple hundred people in on this,” said Rolo. “Aside from a maybe few boring afternoons or one dull Saturday. And they’ll get paid for it, right?”

“Absolutely,” said Matt, curling his hands into fists on his knees. “That’s part of what the crowd-funding is for. Paying employees. They’d be employees. I mean, they’re basically voice actors.”

“Then what’s the harm?” asked Rolo.

Matt chewed the inside of his lip. He stared at the floor for a long moment, then stood and offered his hand.

“Let me give you my phone number.”

 

* * *

 

Lance could barely keep up with how fast Keith was walking. He was a man on a mission, and Lance was just his sidekick. He knew that.

But as much as he wanted to be the best sidekick he could be, his stamina bar had other plans.

“Time out!” called Lance. “Stamina!” He doubled over and put his hands on his knees, but not before seeing Keith, higher on the grass hill, stop just short of the summit and turn around.

Lance saw Keith’s shadow fall across the long, billowing grass beneath him, and he felt a rough tap on his arm.

Sulkily, too out of breath to grumble, Lance lifted his head and sent Keith a half-hearted glare.

“Put your hands on your head,” said Keith, demonstrating. “Like this.”

Skeptically, Lance stood up straight and put his hands behind his head, fingers laced.

And the second his palms hit the back of his head, his stamina bar began to refill at almost twice the rate it had been before.

“Why am I still finding things out about this game?” Lance laughed faintly. “I’ve been playing almost non-stop for weeks. I should know this stuff by now.”

Keith shrugged and dropped his hands. “You don’t stop learning things about Altea,” he said. “You’ve already proven there are things you know that I don’t.”

“I guess,” grumbled Lance, still focused on his stamina gauge. “Hey, does this work in a fight?”

“If you want to stand still and drop your weapons in the middle of a fight, be my guest.”

“I’ll take that as a technical yes but a practical no.” Lance, satisfied with the state of his stamina, dropped his hands and met Keith’s eyes. “Where are we headed, anyway? You never told me.”

“It’s just up the hill,” said Keith, taking a step toward the summit, but keeping his eyes on Lance.

“What is?” asked Lance. “The mouse?”

“No,” said Keith, resuming his hike. “The way we’re getting to the mouse.”

“And how, pray tell, _are_ we getting to the mouse?” asked Lance, following close behind.

Keith’s answer came when he reached the top of the hill. “That’s how.”

Lance narrowed his eyes and quickened his pace to catch up as fast as he could, curious, and when he reached the top, he wished he hadn’t bothered to put in the effort.

“Globinheffers?” asked Lance, raising an eyebrow. “Really? Again?”

“I know last time didn’t go that well,” said Keith. “But there’s no lake here, so we won’t have a repeat of last time.”

Lance hummed and raised a hand to his chin. “You know, the lake wasn’t the only reason last time didn’t go so well.”

“Yeah,” said Keith, scowling down the hillside. “I know. I’m...not a very good teacher. But I’m going to try to be more patient this time.”

“Actually, I was...talking about me.”

Keith knitted his brow and turned toward Lance.

“I’m just saying I could have been a better student.” Lance shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant despite how grudgingly endearing Keith’s expression was. “I was pretty stubborn last time. I could have asked for help, but _no,_ I had to try to be _cool._ ”

Keith only looked more confused. “You were trying to seem cool?”

“Look, I know I didn’t exactly succeed,” said Lance, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“No, I wasn’t, I just…” Keith looked briefly away, then back. “Why? I was the only one there.”

“Uh, hello?” Lance gestured toward Keith with a flat hand. “That’s _exactly_ why I wanted to look cool? Because you were there?”

Keith’s confused expression remained wholly unchanged.

Lance ran his hand down his face. “Look, I’m trying to be humble and vulnerable here. You’re not making this any easier.”

Keith’s frown deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Lance sighed. “Forget it.” He began to walk down the hill. “Let’s just focus on the Globinheffers.”

_I don’t even know what I expected._

 

* * *

 

Keith watched Lance from the edge of the valley, his narrowed eyes following every move.

Every time Lance got close to a Globinheffer, it would trot away before he could even touch it. And Keith knew exactly why, what Lance was doing wrong, how Lance could fix his approach, but despite knowing the exact issue, Keith hadn’t said anything yet.

He wasn’t having trouble finding the words. And he definitely wasn’t enjoying Lance’s suffering. No, the reason he was staying quiet was something else entirely.

He was still trying to figure out why Lance had been trying to look cool the _last_ time they’d tried to catch Globinheffers.

Keith had never seen someone try to look cool in front of him before. Or at least, he didn’t know what they were doing if they had.

Shiro had always exuded confidence. Matt spent a lot of time trying to look cool, but always for Shiro’s sake, never for Keith’s. As for Allura, she never needed to try. She was always, without question, the most elegant person in the room, no effort needed.

Keith had always been the one trying to keep up. He was the youngest of his friends. The one who was still figuring things out. He was a mess, and he knew that, and he’d been trying to improve himself, but he never doubted that Shiro, Matt, and Allura genuinely cared about him.

At least, not before Altea.

Being around Lance was entirely different, though. Keith had never once felt as though he had to impress Lance.

It wasn’t like it had been with the Arusians, where he’d just stopped caring. And it wasn’t that he’d saved Lance enough times that he felt like Lance owed him. Maybe it had started out that way, but as of what had happened on the mountain, they were even. Keith had started to think of them as equals when they were on the ship.

But maybe they weren’t.

_Between me and Lance, am I the “cool” one?_

He watched Lance chase after a Globinheffer, only to stop short, stoop over with his hands on his knees, then stand straight and put his hands on the back of his head like Keith had taught him. He turned in place, looking mildly frustrated as he scanned the herd, his lips parted slightly as he caught his breath.

No, Keith wasn’t the cool one. Objectively speaking, Lance was attractive. Keith might have even gone far enough as to call him “pretty”. He had sharp features and broad shoulders, his eyes were naturally striking, and his confidence, though obnoxious at times, made the best of his features stand out all the more. He was friendly, and though he clearly suffered regarding his fear of cold water and whatever had happened that day in the cave, he still had an emotional strength about him Keith could only dream of having.

Outside of anywhere like Altea, where strength and knowledge mattered more than how attractive or approachable someone was, Lance would have had the clear social advantage.

Keith could almost imagine going to school with Lance. How many friends Lance would have compared to Keith waiting for the day to be over so he could see _his_ friends, who had graduated years prior.

He wouldn’t have been envious. He was happy with Shiro, Matt, and Allura when he was in high school. There were no problems yet, short of feeling a little bit like a fourth wheel at times, being the only one who wasn’t romantically interested in anyone else.

But he could imagine noticing Lance. Maybe wishing he could be one of Lance’s friends.

But it wouldn’t have happened. He would have graduated and moved on, and Lance would never have known he’d existed.

_Not like this is much better,_ noted Keith. _I might as well not exist_ now.

Lance’s eyes locked onto Keith’s, and Keith sat up a little straighter.

“Hey, Mullet!” called Lance, dropping his hands from his head and putting them on his hips. “Are you gonna sit around all day, or are you actually going to help me?”

“Coming!”

Keith sat up, brushed the grass from his armor, and walked to the edge of the herd, where Lance was waiting for him.

“Were you watching me make a fool of myself?” accused Lance, his eyes narrowed.

Keith rolled his eyes. “No, Lance, I wasn’t.”

“Then what _were_ you doing?” asked Lance, slouching.

“Nothing,” said Keith, perhaps a little too quickly.

Lance raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, I was—” Keith averted his eyes. “I was...trying to figure out exactly what you were doing wrong. With the Globinheffers.”

“Uh-huh,” said Lance, audibly unimpressed. “And what _was_ I doing wrong?”

“You were acting like a predator,” said Keith, relieved to be given a question he could answer.

Lance scowled. “ _You_ act like a predator.”

Keith pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, look— You were sneaking up on them.” He dropped his hand. “Then, when they noticed you and started to run, you ran after them.”

Lance frowned and stood up straight, crossing his arms. “So, what, do I just start running at them right away, or…?”

“Just walk up to them,” said Keith. “Like they’re a friend.”

“I already _tried_ that,” protested Lance. “It didn’t work! They ran anyway!”

“So try it again,” said Keith. “You’re probably doing something _else_ wrong.”

Lance grumbled. “What else is new?”

“I didn’t mean it like—” Keith sighed. “Look, I told you, I’m not a good teacher. I don’t know how to explain how to do something right. It’s like…” He hesitated. “It’s like looking at a white canvas and trying to describe it. It’s a lot easier to pinpoint a red spot and paint over it.”

Lance frowned at him for a moment. “I guess that...kind of makes sense.” He narrowed his eyes. “Sort of.”

Keith crossed his arms and shrugged. “It’s the only way I can explain it. Sorry.”

Lance sighed and stood up straighter, scratching the back of his head. “Ahh, whatever. It’s fine.” He took a step backward. “Guess I’ve got no choice but to give it a shot.” He pointed in Keith’s face. “Just don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not _going_ to,” growled Keith.

Lance shrugged and turned around.

When he walked up to the nearest Globinheffer, it was casual, nonconfrontational, and it worked, at least until Lance got close enough to touch the Globinheffer’s neck. It immediately bolted, and Lance began to run after it.

“No-no-no-no-no! Get back here!” He groaned, frustrated, and slowed to a stop before whipping around, glaring at Keith, and throwing his hands into the air. “What did I tell you?!”

“You need to stop running,” said Keith firmly. “You’re not going to be able to catch up with a Globinheffer once it starts moving. They’re a lot faster than we are. That’s half the reason we’re riding them.”

“Oh, yeah, great advice,” said Lance, still irritated. “Problem is? _It started running before I did._ What am I supposed to do about _that,_ huh?”

“That’s because you didn’t pet it right,” said Keith.

“I didn’t _pet it right?_ ” Lance groaned. “What does that even _mean_ , Keith?! What does it mean?!”

Keith fixed Lance with a sharp glare and crossed his arms.

Lance’s eyes widened and he took a step back, hands up in surrender. “Sorry! Sorry. I’m just…” He sighed. “I’m frustrated. But I know I promised to be a better student. You’re trying to be a better teacher, I should be trying just as hard. Sorry.”

Keith diverted his attention to a nearby Globinheffer. “Come on.” He looked back at Lance and grabbed his wrist. “I’ll show you.”

He led Lance to the Globinheffer he’d spotted, keeping to a pace that wouldn’t scare it away, his hand still firmly around Lance’s wrist, and he connected with Lance’s gaze.

“Watch me,” he said, his voice firm. “Closely.”

Lance, his eyes wide, nodded sharply.

With the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Lance’s wrist, Keith reached up and stroked down the creature’s neck all the way to his shoulder.

“I don’t remember you doing this by the pond,” said Lance, his voice softer than usual.

“I was just quick,” said Keith, his voice just as soft. “Once you get used to them, you’ll know what makes them run and what makes them tame. It gets to be muscle memory.” He stroked down the creature’s neck again. “That’s why it’s hard for me to explain how to do it. It’s all muscle memory. I did this hundreds of times before I met Red.”

“Red,” said Lance, still quiet. “Your mount?”

Keith nodded.

“How did you meet her?” asked Lance.

“Sometimes, the monsters you fight react to you,” said Keith. “It just depends on whether you’re compatible or not. If you’re fighting something and it changes shape, stop fighting it. It’s on your side.” He hesitated. “Well, sometimes. Other times, it’s just a boss with more than one form.”

“Oh, that’s helpful,” grumbled Lance.

“Mount transformations are usually more noticeable,” said Keith.

“‘Usually’,” echoed Lance.

Keith shrugged. “Usually.” He turned his head and looked Lance in the eye. “Anyway, it’s your turn.”

“To pet the Globinheffer?” asked Lance, raising an eyebrow.

“What else would I be talking about?” asked Keith, raising his own.

Lance frowned. “Well, I’m gonna need my hand back to do that, so…”

Keith looked down at his hand, which was still wrapped firmly around Lance’s, and he hastily let go. “Right. Sorry.”

Lance flexed his fingers a few times. “You have a killer grip, you know that?”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “I said sorry.”

“I know,” said Lance, shrugging. “Just saying.”

He reached for the Globinheffer’s neck, but before his hand could come in contact with the creature’s fur, Keith caught him.

Lance stiffened.

“Don’t go in so hard,” said Keith. “And don’t pet her from that angle.” He turned Lance’s hand in his own and guided it toward the fur. “Try it this way instead.” He brought their joined hands against the Globinheffer’s neck and led them down toward its shoulder. “This way, she knows you’re not trying to grab her. Make sense?”

“Yeah!” said Lance, his voice much higher pitched than Keith was expecting. Barely more than a squeak.

Keith furrowed his brow and looked at Lance. “Are...you okay?”

Lance’s face was red. Very, very red. “Yeah-sure-I’m-fine-just-fine-why-wouldn’t-I-be-fine-I’m-a-okay-buddy-don’t-you-worry-about-me!” He clenched his jaw.

Keith frowned. “You’re not _acting_ fine. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” insisted Lance, no lower in pitch than before.

Keith got the feeling it was the same sort of “nothing” he’d given Lance just a few minutes before.

But Lance hadn’t really pushed Keith after that, and Keith wouldn’t push Lance, either.

“...Okay.” He let go of Lance’s hand. “Well… Your Globinheffer will probably let you ride her now. Climb on.”

Lance eyed the Globinheffer, then looked at Keith. “Uh…” He flexed his hand a few times. “Just climb on? That easy? After all the...everything?”

“Yeah.” Keith took a step back. “The hard part’s done. Just swing your leg over.”

Lance looked at the Globinheffer warily, pursed his lips, then threw an arm over her neck and pulled himself on.

The Globinheffer flicked her ear, earning a flinch from her nervous rider, but she made no attempt to throw Lance off. He’d successfully tamed her.

“Oh,” breathed Lance, his eyes wide. “Oh, okay.”

“Good job.” Keith patted Lance’s knee. “I’m proud of you.”

Lance sighed. “Oh, come on, Keith. Don’t patronize me.”

“I wasn’t,” said Keith. “I really meant it.” He lifted his head and sent Lance a warm smile, one he hoped was assuring. “You did great, Lance.”

Lance stared at Keith, wide-eyed, completely silent.

And he turned red again. A red that spread all the way to the tips of his ears.

Keith furrowed his brow, and he opened his mouth to try asking what was on Lance’s mind again, but he doubted he would get much more of an answer than he’d gotten the time before, so he just took his hand off Lance’s knee.

“I’m gonna grab one for myself and we can go,” said Keith.

“Grab— What?” Lance blinked.

“A...Globinheffer?” Keith raised an eyebrow.

“Oh.” Lance ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, that’s what— That’s totally what I thought you meant.”

 

* * *

 

“Shiro, I’ll be fine. I’m just overwhelmed. I need to be by myself for a while. That’s it.”

Shiro dropped his shoulders and sighed. “Sorry. I just got worried. You wandered off by yourself without telling us, so…”

Keith smiled sympathetically. “Yeah, I should have told you guys. Sorry about that. But I’m fine. Just overwhelmed. I’m glad I agreed to help you guys, but there were just… There were a lot of people.”

“I understand.” Shiro reached out and grabbed Keith’s shoulder. “Just let us know in the future if you need a moment.”

“I will,” said Keith.

“Is there anything you want me to do for you?” asked Shiro, squeezing Keith’s shoulder tighter.

Keith bowed his head, and Shiro watched him mull it over. “I think the best thing you guys could do for me is to go out to get dinner somewhere.” He lifted his head, his smile back on his face. “I’ve been listening to your stomach growl for the past hour and a half, and it’ll give me time to recover.”

“Okay,” said Shiro. “That works for me. Do you want us to bring you something from wherever we go?”

“If you don’t mind,” said Keith.

“We can do that,” said Shiro. “Anything else?”

“Just the same request I’ve been making for weeks,” said Keith.

Shiro sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Keith, I’ll tell him. I’m still just processing it myself.”

“So you can tell me Allura broke up with you, but you can’t tell Matt?” Keith crossed his arms. “Shiro, we both know why you’ve been putting it off. The real reason.”

Shiro averted his eyes. He knew that Keith was right. But that didn’t make it easier.

“You’re not confessing to him,” said Keith. “All you’re doing is saying you’re single. It’s not as scary as you’re making it out to be. And you know you’d feel better if you talked about it with someone other than me.”

“I guess…” Shiro laughed tiredly and tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. “I guess part of me is kind of hoping he’ll be a little excited. Which isn’t really the way I _should_ expect him to react to me being single, and I know that.”

“Well... “ Keith nudged Shiro’s arm. “He deserves to know. And you deserve a fighting chance. So you should tell him before he starts looking at other people because he thinks you’re still off-limits.”

“I don’t want that to be the reason I tell Matt,” said Shiro. “Besides, I’ve known him for years, and I’ve never seen him give anyone more than a passing glance. I don’t think it’s likely to happen now.”

Keith gave Shiro a pointed, slightly irritated look, and he sighed. “I can’t believe you realized that but not the reason why.”

“What?”

The elevator they’d been waiting on pinged, and the doors opened.

Keith shook his head. “I’ll be in the hotel room if you need me. And if you want to keep being blissfully ignorant of Murphy’s Law, I wouldn’t turn around.”

Shiro furrowed his brow. “What— Why not?”

Keith shrugged and headed for the elevator. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The doors closed behind him, and Shiro was left alone.

Skeptical of Keith’s cryptic warning, but still wary, Shiro began to turn around.

And when he did, he saw past the railing, past the booths left empty by everyone who had packed up for the day, beyond the few straggling convention attendees still looking for things to do despite the late hour, was the Project Beta booth.

And Matt.

Who was writing onto the palm of a cosplayer covered by purple body paint and honestly little else.

The cosplayer said something Shiro couldn’t hear from all the way across the room, and Matt pulled his hand back from the one he was writing on to cover his face. He laughed and shoved the cosplayer’s shoulder, earning a laugh in turn.

Something twisted in Shiro’s stomach, and he had to remind himself to walk—not run—down the ramp on his way back to the booth.

By the time he reached it, the cosplayer was gone.

“Who was that?” asked Shiro, thankfully not sounding as aggressive as he was worried he might, as aggressive as part of him felt he should have been.

“Just someone interested in Project Beta,” said Matt, leaning his hips against the table. “Is Keith okay?”

“He’s fine,” said Shiro, crossing his arms. “Introvert problems. He said we should get dinner without him. Give him time to rest.”

“Man, dinner sounds _so great_ right now,” said Matt, pushing away from the table’s edge. “Let’s get packed up so we can—”

Matt’s phone vibrated audibly, and he reached into his pocket to pull it out.

He tapped the screen with his thumb and read the message he’d gotten.

And he smiled.

And Shiro’s stomach clenched.

Keith was right.

He shouldn’t have turned around.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith, trying his best to help, has only made things worse. I know the feeling, Keith. I know the feeling.
> 
> Thanks for being patient, everyone. I've been focusing more on my novel lately, but I haven't stopped working on SoA, and I'm not going to.


	28. Bug

Shiro’s knuckles froze inches from the door when he heard a retch come from inside, followed by the splashing of liquid meeting liquid, a short string of curses, more splashing, and a half-groaned “ _God…_ ” which itself was followed by the flush of a toilet.

Only then did Shiro knock.

Instead of the cheerful “Come in!” Shiro could normally expect from Matt, he was greeted with a loud groan.

Might not have flown if Shiro was a vampire, but seeing as he hadn’t sprouted fangs in the past week or so, he figured he could take that groan as permission to enter.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside. Music he hadn’t noticed before managed to catch his attention and he found Matt’s phone on the bathroom counter.

It vibrated, and a message appeared on the screen. It disappeared as quickly as it appeared, but not so fast that Shiro didn’t catch what it said.

**ROLO: No problem. Feel better soon, all right?**

Shiro sighed and tore his eyes away from the phone, back toward Matt, who was curled up in front of the toilet, his arms draped over the bowl.

“I forgot you could pull your tongue throwing up,” whined Matt, his voice echoing off the porcelain. “Just one more thing that sucks on this long list of everything sucking. My entire torso is sore, I have a headache, my neck hurts, and now I’ve pulled a muscle in my  _tongue_.”

“Con crud, huh?”

A beat passed, then Matt warily lifted his head. There were bags under his eyes.

“Shiro? What are you doing here? I thought you were Pidge.”

“Shift change,” said Shiro, smiling his kindest smile. “Here, I brought you something to drink. I know lemon-lime isn’t your drink of choice, but it helps. Trust me.”

He held up the plastic fast food cup in his hand and Matt glanced at it before sitting back and leaning against the wall of the bathtub. “Just leave it on the counter and go before I infect you.”

“Not happening.” Shiro sat on the edge of the bathtub next to Matt and handed him the drink. “You’re worth getting sick for.”

Matt groaned. “Why are you so nice all the time?”

“I’m not.” Shiro reached down and brushed Matt’s bangs away from his clammy forehead. “Best friends get special treatment. That’s all.”

Matt closed his eyes and tried to lean into Shiro’s touch. The attempt made him slide down the tub until his cheek met the side of Shiro’s leg. “Just don’t blame me if you do get sick.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Shiro. “I just wish I could find out about this stuff from you for once instead of Pidge.”

Matt sighed. “Stuff?”

“When you’re not feeling well,” said Shiro, threading his fingers through Matt’s hair. “Physically or mentally.”

Matt opened his eyes just barely enough to meet Shiro’s eyes with a guilty look. “...Well, I could ask you the same thing.”

Shiro frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Matt started to sit up straighter, but he was quick to go back down, apparently too sore to want to move. “Something’s wrong. Something’s  _been_ wrong...for a  _while_. Since the day we met with the Sinclines.”

Shiro gripped the edge of the bathtub.  _Oh, boy…_

“I know Keith knows what’s wrong,” said Matt, closing his eyes again, his brow knitting. “And I tried asking Allura, but she said that if you didn’t tell me, she wasn’t going to.”

Shiro pulled his hand away from Matt’s hair and set it on his lap. “Why didn’t you ever ask me?”

“That’s what I’m doing now, isn’t it?” Matt briefly opened his eyes to meet Shiro’s, then his brow smoothed out and he closed them again. “I didn’t want… I was afraid that there was a reason why you weren’t telling me in particular. Maybe I did something, or—”

“Oh—” Shiro’s heart lurched. “Oh, Matt…” He moved from the edge of the tub to the floor and knelt in front of Matt to meet him at eye level. With gentle hands, he reached out to cradle Matt’s face. His cheeks were sweaty, but cold. If he’d had a fever, it must have broken recently. “It has nothing to do with you. I promise.”

Matt looked him in the eye, and Shiro noticed something in his eyes he hadn’t noticed from where he’d been sitting on the edge of the tub.  _Tears._  “Then why am I the one person you didn’t talk to about it? I’d understand if you didn’t want to tell  _anyone_ about it, but if it’s just me you’re hiding it from, then—”

“Matt, calm down.” Shiro swept his thumbs across Matt’s cheeks. The tears in his eyes hadn’t fallen, but Shiro hoped the touch was soothing either way. “I don’t want you wearing yourself out when you’re sick like this. If you want to know, I’ll tell you. Do you want to know?”

Matt lifted his brow and set down his drink before covering both of Shiro’s hands with his own. “Of course I do.”

“Okay.” Shiro took a heavy breath, one that sat in his chest like a sharp stone, like the kind of cramped breath a person takes after eating too much. “So, you know what’s been going on with Allura’s dad, right? And how she’s leaving the country to be with him while she still can?”

Matt knitted his brow, but he nodded.

“Well…” Shiro sighed. “She didn’t want to do the long-distance thing, so…”

A beat passed, then Matt’s virus-addled brain seemed to put the pieces together, and he screwed his eyes shut tight. “Oh, for— I’m an asshole.”

“You’re not an asshole,” assured Shiro. “You didn’t know. And if I had any idea you were thinking what you were, I would have told you sooner. If anything, I’m the asshole.”

“No, you’re not,” sighed Matt. He looked close to falling over, perhaps as much from emotional exhaustion as from his illness. “You’re not the one who took someone else’s problems and made them about yourself. That’s… That’s why you were late for the dinner, wasn’t it? And I made it about me then, too, didn’t I? I’m such a…”

Shiro slid his hands out from under Matt’s and pulled him into an embrace that was intended to be as much an excuse for Matt to rest as it was comforting. “You didn’t make anything about yourself that night,” said Shiro, running his palm up and down Matt’s back. “With where my mind was that night, the dinner could have been a disaster, but you knew exactly how to help me. And when you took me out for ice cream afterward, and we walked through the city under the stars  _completely_ overdressed... You know, I can’t remember a time when I cared less about people staring at me.”

Matt looped his arms loosely around Shiro’s waist. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly putting myself through torture that night. I was just having fun with my best friend. I didn’t have a clue what you were going through.”

“You say that like I needed you to make some kind of sacrifice.” Shiro reached up and cradled the back of Matt’s head. “Seeing you happy was part of what made that night so great. It wouldn’t have been the same without you trying on novelty jewelry and striking poses in the souvenir shop mirror.”

“What’s this ‘you’ nonsense?” said Matt, audibly tired, but still clearly amused. “I’ve got an entire row of pictures of you in heart-shaped glasses and enough plastic beads to weigh down a mastiff and I  _will_  drag them out.” He shifted in Shiro’s arms and pressed his forehead against Shiro’s neck. “I still have my ring from that night. That big cicada that takes up half my finger.”

Shiro smiled. “I still have mine, too.”

“Oh, yeah!” Matt laughed weakly. “I forgot about the  _punk griffin_. Still rockin’ the mohawk?”

“Still rockin’ the mohawk,” said Shiro, smiling a little wider. “Every time I see it on my dresser, it reminds me what’s really important.”

“That punk’s not dead?” offered Matt.

Shiro grinned. “Exactly.”

Matt laughed again and tightened his hold on Shiro’s waist, just for the briefest of moments, then let his hands fall. “...I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me. I know why Allura knows what happened, but...you still told Keith but not me. Why?”

Shiro pressed his eyes shut and sighed. At least the question was more curious than scared this time. “Well, Keith’s stuck with me whether he wants to be or not,” said Shiro. “Benefit of being almost brothers, I guess. But if there was some kind of... _conflict_  that was big enough…”

“Shiro, I’m not going to choose between you and Allura.” Matt sounded almost annoyed. “Even if the breakup was bad and not just because Allura’s moving. Even if you guys just started  _hating_ each other, I’d refuse to choose between you unless I absolutely  _had_  to for some reason. And even if there  _was_ a good enough reason to choose between you, Shiro, we’ve known each other for  _years_. You were the one who dragged me out of my own personal hell  _literally_  kicking and screaming after my dad died. You’re as important to me as my mom or Pidge. I’m not going  _anywhere_. Not unless you’re coming with me. And nothing you could do would ever change that.”

Shiro shook his head. “Matt—”

“If you’re about to argue, don’t bother.” Matt gripped the back of Shiro’s shirt. “Someone would have to kill me to take me away from you. Unless you wanted me to go.”

Shiro scoffed. “Like that would ever happen.”

“Good,” said Matt. “So, you, um…” He cleared his throat. It wasn’t the most pleasant of sounds. “You sure you weren’t just keeping it secret so I wouldn’t get my hopes up? You know, considering the great Takashi Shirogane is single again.”

A startled, flustered bark of a laugh jumped out of Shiro before he could even think about suppressing it. “Come on, Matt, be serious. We both know you’re the real heartthrob here.”

Shiro had been fully expecting a laugh, maybe a smug answer along the lines of “Obviously; it’s my gift as well as my curse,” but all he got was a short laugh that was closer to a puff of air from the nose and a quiet, “Right.” But Matt was tired and sick and Shiro couldn’t blame him for being a little less buoyant than usual. “Seriously, though, Shiro, you’re going to want to let go of me pretty soon, or I’m  _definitely_  going to get you sick.”

“Nah,” said Shiro, reclining until his back met the wall adjacent to the bathtub and pulling Matt along with him. “It’s worth it. I’d get sick a thousand times if it meant spending five more minutes of my life holding you.”

Matt whined. “Shiro, I’m too weak for this. If you make me blush right now, I could  _die_.”

“Well…” Shiro smirked. He couldn’t help himself. “Better not kiss you then, huh?”

“ _Shiro…_ ”

 

* * *

 

Keith felt like he should have been surprised by how quickly Lance had picked up Globinheffer riding, but honestly, he was too busy being surprised by how receptive he was to Keith’s advice. He’d started out defensive enough, for sure, but after a while…

“Lance, you’re squeezing her sides too hard.”

“Right!”

His knees relaxed, and the ears of the Globinheffer he was riding flicked forward again, less irritated than they had been.

“I guess it is kind of like riding a horse, huh?” Lance reached down the Globinheffer’s neck and patted it gently. “Just with more horns.”

“So you  _have_ ridden a horse,” noted Keith. “Could have fooled me.”

“Look, it’s been a while, all right?” Lance sent him a glare through the corner of his eye. “I haven’t done it since I was, like, twelve. And I never did it bare-back like this.” His glare was quick to disappear, replaced with a smug smirk. “Still remember how to milk a cow, though, so if you ever need advice on that, you know who to call.”

Keith mirrored that smirk with one of his own. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said in a tone that clearly suggested he wouldn’t. Something that Lance cottoned onto, judging by the return of his irritated scowl.

“Okay, Globinheffer Boy…” Lance leaned back, eyes narrowed to mere slits. “Now you know my dark, farmy past… So what about you? I’m guessing this isn’t just an Altea thing for you.”

Keith shrugged and looked down at his hands. “I lived in rural Texas until I was about eleven.”

“Texas?”

“I don’t remember much about it,” admitted Keith, “but I remember it was impossible to live where I did without finding yourself on the back of a horse at least once.”

When Lance had no snarky answer for that, Keith lifted his head. He felt a little silly for getting worried, but the last time Lance had been so quiet had been in the cave.

And when Keith saw Lance’s face, the comparison to that sensitive moment in the cave seemed all the more real. His eyes were downcast, but there was something intense about them, as if he were solving an unsolvable problem behind his distant stare.

“Lance?” Keith reached for Lance’s Globinheffer and halted it by gently tugging at one of its horns.

Lance lifted his head so suddenly Keith swore he heard his neck crack. “Is there a reason you don’t remember much about Texas?”

Keith furrowed his brow. “What kind of question is that? I got older.” He shrugged in a way that was almost aggressive. “Time passed. It’s not that out of the ordinary, is it?”

“I’m just saying it’s a  _little—_ ”

Lance fell abruptly silent and covered his face with both hands. He seemed  _distraught._  And that distress seemed to have come out of nowhere. And Keith… Keith didn’t know what to do about it. He’d never been good with emotions—especially when it came to mood swings—but Lance had always done whatever he could when he knew Keith was in trouble, even when they didn’t get along. The least Keith could do in return was at least try.

He let go of the horn from Lance’s Globinheffer and reached instead for his shoulder. “What’s up?”

Lance shook his head, his face still covered, and muttered something into his palms. Keith didn’t hear any of it at all until Lance began to lower his hands.

“—doesn’t speak Spanish. Plenty of people have lived in...” Lance sighed and dropped his hands back to his Globinheffer’s mane. “Sorry. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” asked Keith, leaning a little closer.

Lance nodded, and he raised one hand to pat Keith’s, but there was no denying he was avoiding Keith’s gaze. “I’m good. Thanks.”

Keith wasn’t exactly convinced, but if Lance didn’t want to talk about it with him, Keith couldn’t really blame him.

“Okay, well…” Keith nodded ahead. “It’s just a little bit farther.”

“Are you finally going to explain exactly where we’re going?” Lance had lost a little energy, but the fact that he’d met Keith’s gaze again was a good thing.

“I did tell you,” said Keith, urging his Globinheffer forward with a gentle kick of the heels. “We’re finding another mouse.”

“Yeah, but that’s more like a  _why_  we’re going,” said Lance, following close behind. “Not a  _where._ ”

“It’s...kind of complicated,” admitted Keith. “I, uh…” He stole a glance over his shoulder. “I don’t really know, exactly. But I know how to get there.”

“Okay, so how do we  _get_  there?” pressed Lance. “Could you at least give me an idea?”

“Well…” Keith nodded ahead of them. “You see that really steep hill?”

“Yeah,” said Lance warily.

Keith gripped his Globinheffer’s mane and leaned forward. “Come on.”

The Globinheffer he was riding charged forward, Lance hot on his heels, and when he stopped at the peak of the hill, he looked over the edge.

The hill was less of a hill, no matter how it had looked from the bottom. It would have been much more accurate to call it a cliff. On the other side of the peak was nothing but a near-90-degree drop straight down to the sand below and a wide, wide stretch of brilliant blue ocean that reached out as far as the eye could see.

“ _That’s_  why I smelled salt,” muttered Lance from Keith’s flank. “Okay. Great. We found a beach. How do we get to it without dying?”

“You’ve noticed Globinheffers are basically big mountain goats, right?”

Lance ironed his expression flat. “Okay, smart alec, how are we  _actually_  getting down there?”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

“Me?” Lance scoffed. “ _No_. I spent a huge chunk of my life wanting to be a pilot.”

“So what’s the problem?” asked Keith.

“The fact that this isn’t just height,” said Lance. “It’s the crazy steep ramp and the nonexistent footing and the totally impossible descent.”

“It’s not impossible,” said Keith. “Slopes like this and Globinheffers were put into this game as a pair. It’s a problem and a solution, just like anything else in the game. If there’s a locked door, there’s always a key. We’re looking at a question and you’re riding an answer.” He shrugged. “Besides, if you do fall, what’s the worst that will happen to you?”

“I’ll have to do it again!” screeched Lance.

Keith sighed. “Look, I’ll go first. I’ll prove that it’s safe, and then you can follow me. Is that all right?”

Lance’s eyes darted down the cliff, then back to Keith. “...Fine.” There was a pregnant pause, a moment where Keith was sure Lance would say something else, and he waited. “...But you better not get hurt, either.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the sliver of a smile that crept onto his lips. “I won’t.” He hesitated. “...But thanks for caring.”

“Of course I care,” said Lance, doing his best to look aloof and not quite succeeding. “If you fall, then I’m gonna have to go  _all_  the way back to your place to get you and then we have to ride  _all_  the way back here. Who wants that?”

“Right.” Keith shook his head and turned his attention back to the cliffside. The real problem wasn’t the cliff itself, but what they were going to find at the bottom. But, of course, if Lance knew that, he probably wouldn’t go. It was better just to explain things once they were at the bottom.

The first step Keith’s Globinheffer took down the edge of the cliff was enough for Lance to utter a nervous squeak. Keith had to purse his lips to keep from laughing, but he managed, at least until his Globinheffer made a calculated slide down a few feet of rock and a terrified “Keith!” echoed down the cliffside.  _Then_  he laughed.

“I’m fine!” he called over his shoulder. “That’s just part of it. The Globinheffer knows what he’s doing.”

Lance was remarkably pale. “How is that  _part of it?_ I thought you were going to fall!”

“Oh, is  _that_ why you screamed?” teased Keith. “And here I thought you just missed me.”

“Just—” Lance sighed emphatically. “Get to the bottom so I know it’s safe!”

Keith chuckled and shook his head. “Yes, Sir.”

The second the Globinheffer’s cloven hooves hit the sand, Keith turned around and looked up at Lance three stories above him. “Hurry up!”

To Keith’s surprise, Lance didn’t immediately quip back. He stayed silent up until his Globinheffer reached the point where Keith’s own began to slide, and the highest-pitched scream Keith had ever heard rang down to where he stood at the bottom.

“Don’t hug her neck like that!” called Keith, stifling a laugh. “Lean back! You’re putting her off-balance!”

Lance let go of his Globinheffer’s neck as fast as he possibly could and leaned as far away from it as possible, far enough back that he let go of her altogether.

“Keep holding onto her mane!”

“What do you want me to do, Keith?! Hold on or lean back?! I can’t do both!”

“Yes, you can! Just hold on with your hands, and keep her at arm’s length!”

Lance’s descent was a great deal more clumsy than Keith’s had been, but despite his frequent complaints, he did respond to Keith’s advice every step of the way, and he made it to the bottom in one piece.

“Holy  _crow_ ,” breathed Lance once he finally stepped onto the sand, his relief palpable. “That was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever voluntarily done in my life. You know, after jumping headfirst into freezing cold water. Close second. Very...very close second.”

“Well, you made it,” said Keith. “At least down the cliff. Congratulations.”

Lance screwed his eyes shut and bared his teeth in a pained grimace. “Why? Why did you say that like there’s more?”

“Because there’s more,” said Keith, smirking.

Lance whined. “No, don’t say that! The hard part’s over, though, right? It’s all downhill from here?”

“Actually,” said Keith, “we’re about to try something that I’ve never been able to do on my own.”

Lance sent Keith perhaps the sharpest glare Keith had ever seen from him. “You know what? I really might actually hate you right now.”

Keith smiled and urged his Globinheffer back into a walk. “Right back at you.”

 

* * *

 

Okay, so Lance didn’t actually hate Keith.

Sure, he was a  _little_  bit horrified by what Keith had just put him through and whatever nightmare they were bounding toward with wild abandon, but it was hard to look at Keith’s face backlit by the setting sun and its reflection on the rippling ocean behind him and think hateful thoughts.

And once the very effective distraction of potentially splattering on the beach like a fly on a windshield had passed, Lance found his mind wandering right back to where it had been before they’d started climbing down the cliffside.

Keith had lived in Texas until he was eleven years old.

The timeline worked out.

But that didn’t change the fact that Keith didn’t know any Spanish whatsoever. And if his foggy memories of Texas had been because of an injury, he would have said so. Lance genuinely believed Keith when he said the memories had faded as he’d gotten older.

But it was so tempting for Lance to hold onto that one piece of evidence despite everything that contradicted it. He was so desperate for closure, and when it felt so close, it was so hard to let go.

Keith was an honest person, though. Lance wasn’t sure whether he knew how to be anything besides honest, to the point of being blunt. He valued his privacy, sure, and there were things he still didn’t want Lance involved in, even if Lance had managed to find the door to some of those walls. Lance still doubted Keith would outright lie, though. Hell, Lance doubted he  _could_. He was just too much of a social klutz for that. And even if he was capable...he’d seemed almost baffled that Lance suggested anything  _other_  than usual decay over time could possibly be responsible for those lost memories.

No. As far as Keith knew, he hadn’t lost anything due to any external force. Not any understanding of the Spanish language or anything else.

Of course, there was always the possibility that Keith had lost the event that caused him to lose his memories along with whatever else he lost, but...that was probably a reach.

And, honestly...Lance was starting to wonder.

He couldn’t stop looking at Keith. At that intense, focused glimmer in his eye. At the curve of his neck just before it disappeared into the collar of his heavy armor. At the way the sun’s light reflected off the ocean’s surface and caught his every stray hair kicked up by the warm breeze.

And a strange thought popped into Lance’s head. A thought he thought he’d never think.

_Maybe it doesn’t matter._

The thought, such a departure from his usual priorities, took Lance off his guard. His eyes widened, and his lips parted, and his heart began to beat just a little bit faster.

It was startling, and yet, once the idea was in Lance’s head, he couldn’t shake it.

Maybe it  _didn’t_  matter. Maybe the past could stay where it was, in the past. Maybe all Keith had to be was just...himself. The Red Warrior, the guy who helped without expecting anything in return and teased without hesitation, the awkward guy who cared too much about total strangers and could stand to care a little more about himself. Who he was before then… In the grand scheme of things, couldn’t they just throw that out? Did it really have to mean as much as Lance had thought? Did Keith have to be anything other than who he was, in that moment, right there on the beach?

Couldn’t Keith just be Keith?

“Lance?”

Lance blinked his way back into the present and met Keith’s eyes. “Hm? What?”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “You’re staring.”

Lance turned away. “I was just… Your hair’s a mess.”

Keith sighed. “I’m not surprised. It’s windy down here.”

“Yeah,” mumbled Lance, stealing one more cursory glance. “Windy. ...Anyway, what exactly are we looking for?”

“A bird,” said Keith.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “A...bird. Do I get more details, or am I supposed to be on the lookout for ostriches, penguins, and phoenixes? What kind of bird are we talking here?”

“Look down,” said Keith.

Lance did.

At first, all he saw was a line in the sand. It looked like it had been drawn with a stick. But as his eyes followed that line, he began to notice a beak, wings, tail feathers…

“Okay,” said Lance slowly, “so you didn’t mean a  _bird,_  you meant a  _picture_  of a bird.”

“Well…” Keith dismounted from his Globinheffer. “You’ll see. You have your bow, right?”

“Yeah,” said Lance, warily lowering himself onto the sand. “Is this a boss battle?”

“No,” said Keith. “But it’s…” He sighed. “Just...get your bow out and stand on the bird’s back.”

“Is the bird going to try to kill me?” asked Lance.

“ _No,_ ” said Keith irritably. “Well—  _Yeah,_  but— It’s not going to attack, just—”

“Could you maybe calm down?” asked Lance. “You’re making  _me_  nervous.”

Keith rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefingers, then dropped his hand and made his way to the bird’s neck and kneeled on it, facing the head, his back turned to Lance. “I’ve never done this before.” He hesitated. “I mean, I tried...a few times, but…”

“But you failed,” supplied Lance, cautiously treading onto the bird’s back and digging his bow out of his pack. “I’m guessing a  _lot._ ”

Keith turned around and sent a hardened scowl over his shoulder.

“Okay, geez, calm down.” Lance raised the hand not holding his bow in a peaceable gesture. “This is why  _I’m_  here. Why I wanted you to trust me in the first place. There are some things you can’t do by yourself.”

“It’s just because there are targets,” said Keith, turning away from Lance again. “Warriors don’t have any ranged attacks. I tried throwing my knife, but that’s only good for one of them.”

“So I should be preparing myself for a shooting range,” surmised Lance.

“Yeah,” said Keith. “But...that’s not all of it.”

“Okay,” said Lance. “So what’s the rest?”

Keith looked over his shoulder again, though the opposite shoulder he’d looked over before. Instead of looking at Lance, he looked out to the water.

The second Lance followed his gaze, he understood why.

Just as the last sliver of sunlight began to disappear past the horizon, it turned from a radiant light into a laser, one that shot across the surface of the water and made a straight shot from what was left of the sun to the bird’s tail feathers. That golden light filled the grooves in the sand from the laser point outward, tracing two evenly-paced lines that followed every curve in the bird’s outline from its talons to its wings to its head. When the two lines connected at the very tip of the bird’s beak, the light immediately began to fade, but in its place, the ground began to shake.

Lance dropped to a knee, afraid of losing his balance and falling over, but before he had a chance to scream, something else did it for him. A loud, long bird cry rang out, reverberating across the face of the cliffs he and Keith climbed down, sending the Globinheffers running for safety. The cry seemed to come from every direction, from the ocean, from the cliffs themselves, from the very sky, but more than anything, it seemed to come from beneath Lance’s feet, and he soon understood why.

The sand began to rise from beneath him in a giant, trembling dune. Lance looked to Keith for some kind of guidance or advice, but all Keith was doing was digging through the sand to try to get at something underneath.

And then Lance saw the wings. Big, broad eagle’s wings, big enough to hold houses on either side, rising out of the sand with ease, sending grains of sand trickling down between the primaries like trails of water.

The creature flapped its wings once, just enough to kick up a cloud of stinging sand and finally free the scream Lance had been holding back, and then it took off in a flash, sending Lance tumbling toward its tail feathers with another shocked cry.

“Lance!”

Lance opened the eyes he’d closed and lifted his head to look past the hand with which he’d just barely managed to hold onto a few of the bird’s feathers, just enough to keep him from slipping the rest of the way down.

Keith was watching him, eyes wide, hair flying in every direction.

“I’m fine!” called Lance, raising his bow hand. “I’m okay! We’re good!”

“You sure?!” shouted Keith, barely audible over the wind rushing by. “Do you need help?!”

“I’ve got this!” called Lance, inching his way up the great bird’s back with the toes of his shoes and managing another handful of feathers around his bow. With some struggle and some near-slips, Lance managed to crawl his way back to the point between the bird’s wings where he’d been before.

And once Lance reached the bird’s shoulders, all the fear in him seemed to pour out, as if someone had kicked the bucket it had been gathering in.

“Whoa…”

It was  _beautiful._  The purple sky from the recently-set sun, the smattering of light gray clouds that swirled in the distance. The white bird they were riding—something that looked like an eagle or perhaps an owl with a more crane-like head—wasn’t even flapping its wings. It was just...gliding. Almost soundless, save for the whisper of wind through the bird’s feathers and the flap of Lance’s robes as he climbed to his feet.

Lance had fully expected a boss battle, not a beautiful early evening flight on the back of a gorgeous fantasy creature.

But Keith had said to grab his bow, so whatever peace they were experiencing was bound to change soon.

“Get ready,” called Keith, echoing Lance’s thoughts. “The bats are going to show up any minute.”

Lance raised his bow and mimed the nocking of an arrow. One appeared in his hand, glowing a faint blue.

And then he heard it. The faintest of flapping in the gentle wind.

Bow raised, Lance turned around and took aim.

And then he paused.

It was indeed a bat, and it was a large one—albeit not as large as the bird Lance and Keith were riding—but it wasn’t drawing any closer. It didn’t seem hostile at all. It was just flying alongside them, carrying something with its feet.

It looked almost like a fishbowl, round and glass with what looked like water swishing around inside of it.

Lance narrowed his eyes. That was a weird design for an enemy.

“What are you waiting for?!” snapped Keith. “Shoot it down!”

Lance frowned, but he drew back his bowstring and he loosed an arrow.

The bat vanished in a puff of purple smoke, but the glass bowl it had been holding onto didn’t vanish with it. It just began to fall.

The bird beneath Lance’s feet twisted and writhed, and Lance dropped to his knees and held on. Keith, ahead of him, had his arms wrapped around the bird’s neck. He seemed to be wrestling with it, fighting the bird’s attempt to turn over, but when the bird stopped twisting, Lance’s stomach started.

Something wasn’t right.

“Get ready for the next one,” called Keith, and sure enough, Lance heard the flapping of bat wings soon reach his ear.

Warily, squeezing his bow perhaps a little too tight, Lance climbed to his feet and nocked another arrow.

Another bat flew close to them, just as peaceful as the first one had. And just like the first one, it carried a glass orb filled with water in its feet.

Lance took aim. He pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes, and loosed another arrow.

Just like before, Lance’s arrow met its mark.

But Lance hadn’t been aiming for the bat this time.

The arrow bounced off the glass ball, and a melodic, bell-like chime rang through the air.

The bat’s orb began to glow a pale gold.

And the bat retreated, diving low and disappearing behind the great wing it had been flying behind.

This time, the white bird didn’t react.

Lance grinned. “I knew it!”

Keith whipped around, brow furrowed. “What did you do?”

“We’re not supposed to kill the bats!” said Lance eagerly, raising his bow again. “We’re just supposed to hit what they’re holding! It’s not a fight, it’s a  _puzzle!_ ”

Keith shook his head, incredulous. “How—”

“No time to talk,” said Lance. “Gotta focus. You just stay there. I don’t want to fall to my death if I miss.”

Keith hesitated, but not for long. He was quick to return his hands to the bird’s neck.

Yet again, Lance heard the flap of a bat’s wing and he turned around to face the source of the sound.

This bat wasn’t as steady of a flier as the one before it, but the predictable rise and fall of its target wasn’t enough to throw Lance off his game. His arrow met the orb and ricocheted off, resulting in a slightly lower-pitched ring.

Every round after that was much the same. A bat would appear flying in a slightly more erratic pattern than the one before—in one case, two bats appeared at almost the same time, and Lance had to keep track of which one appeared first when their flight paths crossed each other back and forth, which he found out the hard way when he'd failed on his first attempt—and each time Lance’s arrow hit its target, a new note would play, until Lance hit the twelfth bat.

Then all twelve of the bats appeared at once, flying in a circular formation ahead of the white bird, evenly spaced like the numbers on a clock.

Their targets flashed one by one in a circle, each of them playing their notes one by one, mingling seamlessly with each flap of the bats’ wings.

A gentle beat began to play in time with the bats’ song from nowhere. Real background music. Lance hadn’t run into that since Bluve Chapel.

In the center of the circle of bats, stars began to swirl. It looked like a gateway of some kind.

“Where do you think  _that_  leads?” asked Lance.

Keith didn’t answer.

Frowning, Lance tore his eyes away from the stars and looked down, to where Keith was.

He had his head tilted back, and he seemed to be staring into the distance, like he was in some kind of trance.

And it didn’t take long for Lance to understand why.

Whatever Keith was going through...whatever reason he had to fight the Galra so desperately...music wasn’t a part of the experience.

_Oh, man… Keith… How often do you get to hear music at all?_

Without a choice, without the chance to change a thing, the bats began to slow, and the white bird caught up with their flight, sending Keith and Lance both through the gateway they’d created.

 

* * *

 

Keith was abruptly dragged out of his nigh-hypnotic state when the bird he was perched upon began to blow away from him like sand. He, and Lance, hit the ground with all the inertia they’d gathered in their flight, and they tumbled forward until they wound up in a heap on the ground, Lance lying across Keith’s back.

“Ugh…” Lance pushed himself off and sat back. “You okay, Buddy?”

Keith rose to his elbows and sighed, eyes closed. The music was gone. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” asked Lance, more sympathetic than was usual for him. “That was kind of a rough landing.”

“Yeah,” said Keith, rolling onto his back. “I’m okay.”

Keith heard a shift in the leaves and the twigs and the dirt they were sitting in, and he opened his eyes. Lance was on his feet, leaning over him, one hand outstretched, the other still holding his bow.

Keith eyed the proffered hand for a moment, then took it and allowed Lance to pull him to his feet.

“Lance…”

“Yeah?”

Keith let go of Lance’s hand. “How did you know what to do back there?”

“What, with the bats?” Lance raised an eyebrow and smirked. “It was kind of obvious. You know, to someone whose first instinct  _isn’t_ to hit everything he sees.”

“They were charging at us,” said Keith, frowning.

“They were flying next to us,” corrected Lance. “And they were holding big, glass orbs filled with water.” He crossed his arms smugly. “Kind of a huge tip-off.”

“They could have been anything,” said Keith. “Weapons, part of their design—”

“Nope,” said Lance sharply. “Not part of their design. Not when they dropped it like any other item when they were killed. Besides, doing the right thing in a game is never one-to-one with punishment, and the bird started trying to throw us off the second I killed that first bat. That was a clear sign that it was the wrong thing to do. And…” He uncrossed his arms. Keith caught him playing with the handguard on his bow. “...I kind of learned my lesson recently about making sure something isn’t on your side before you lash out at them.” He rubbed the back of his neck and averted his eyes toward the tops of the trees. “Life seems to go a lot smoother when you give someone the chance to be your friend before you decide you’re enemies.”

Keith’s chest tightened. He suddenly felt rather small.

“...Oh.”

Lance cleared his throat, sniffed, and dropped his arm before looking Keith in the eye. “Anyway, uh, where are we?”

Keith lifted his head and squinted at the tops of the trees. “I think we might be in Olkarion, but it’s hard to tell. Maybe the western border between Arus and Olkarion, judging by the trees.”

“So around where you live?” asked Lance.

Keith nodded. “I could be wrong, though. It has to be somewhere that’s only accessible the way we came, or there wouldn’t be a point to going through all the trouble. Maybe we’re on an island in the middle of the ocean, or on a different map entirely.”

“Well, the mouse has to be around here somewhere,” said Lance. “We should start looking.”

“Should we split up?” asked Keith.

Lance snorted. “You mean the number one leading cause of deaths in any tabletop RPG?  _No._  Buddy system all the way. You’re sticking with me whether you like it or not.”

Keith furrowed his brow. “Why did you have to say that like I don’t want to be around you?”

Lance scoffed dismissively. “I didn’t, I was just…”

Keith took a step closer and set a hand on Lance’s shoulder, the same way Shiro used to do for him before everything went wrong.

Lance’s eyes widened.

“I’m...glad you’re here,” said Keith. “And anything I ever said to make you think I’m not… If it was ever really true, it’s not anymore, so…forget about it if you can, and if you can’t, just know…” He knitted his brow. “You’re not the only one who’s learned his lesson, okay?”

“I…” Lance looked stunned. Like he’d been slapped in the face. “Yeah, I mean, sure, Man, don’t sweat it.”

Keith lowered his hand. “Okay, well…” He took a step past Lance. “Let’s find whatever it is we’re supposed to find.”

 

* * *

 

Lance and Keith’s search led them to a canyon that cut deep into the forest floor. The sound of rushing water reached Lance’s ears from far, far beneath them.

“River or ocean?” asked Lance. “What do you think?”

“I think the better question is, ‘How do we cross it?’” Keith walked to the edge of the canyon and leaned over the edge to get a look.

“Maybe we don’t,” said Lance. “I mean, if we were dropped here by a magical bird and a bat portal, maybe this is what’s keeping people from reaching it normally.”

Keith turned his head and looked along the crevice. “I don’t think so. Look.”

Lance crept to the edge and, with just a fraction more caution than Keith, leaned over it to see what he was talking about.

Through the thickest of the trees and past several large boulders was a single, rickety rope bridge.

“Oh, that looks secure,” muttered Lance.

Keith shrugged. “It’s still a way across. Come on.”

Lance followed Keith’s weaving path through the thick trees, over thick bushes and down sharp slopes that almost had Lance wishing he had his Globinheffer back. It seemed like an exhausting route to take, but it did lead them directly to the bridge, although when it did, there was something that hadn’t been there before. Or, rather, someone.

It was a girl. Her build was similar to Pidge’s, in that she was short and lean, but that was all she seemed to have in common with Pidge. She wasn’t even human. Pointed ears, four arms, green-tinged skin… She looked almost like she would have fit better in a science fiction than a fantasy. Whoever had designed her—probably Shiro if Lance had to guess—had definitely gotten a little more creative this time around.

But strangely, more eye-catching than the green skin or the unusual number of extremities—or even the glowing aqua-colored wall blocking off the bridge Lance swore hadn’t existed before—was the way the girl was dressed.

It shouldn’t have been, really. There was nothing unusual about her clothes. Just a knee-length dress, ribbons around each of her wrists and her neck, hoop earrings in her pointed ears… But it was all white. It was almost hypnotic, like Lance was staring into pure white light. She was almost ghost-like. And Lance, knowing where he was, had a feeling that was intentional. He’d already seen zombie-like creatures. Finding himself face to face with a ghost girl wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

The girl bowed low, closed her eyes, tucked three of her four hands behind her back, and extended the last one, expectant.

Keith shuffled nervously by Lance’s right shoulder. “Uh… What does she want?”

“I’m guessing whoever gave you the beach bird tip didn’t say anything about bringing an offering for a tiny bridge troll?”

Keith shook his head. “Do you think we have to pay her?”

Lance furrowed his brow. There was something about the way she was standing and the way she was dressed. Something that made him wonder.

And then he remembered something Pidge had told him.

_Matt always picked the dance option._

_Matt still racked up the perfects even though the music wasn’t audible anymore and he was laughing the whole time._

Matt liked dancing games.

What was more, he was good at them.

And the way the girl was offering her hand...like she was asking for something…

Lance reached up and patted Keith’s shoulder. “I’ve got an idea.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Keith.

“You sound worried,” teased Lance, turning around and walking backward toward the girl. “You’ll see.”

He turned back around, grinned, and took the hand offered to him.

The second his hand met the girl’s, everything else faded away. The forest, the bridge, even Keith. There was nothing but Lance, the girl, and an endless black void.

Well, unless one were to count the rhythmic, energetic brass that blasted in from every direction.

Big band. Swing music.

And an objective that popped up in front of Lance’s face. A very simple one. Just two words.

╔═════════════════╗

ＵＮＩＬＵ ＳＷＩＮＧ

╚═════════════════╝

Lance’s grin widened. He  _knew_  it.

He tapped through the tutorial that followed after barely skimming it—it was basically  _Triple Threat_ , nothing new but the glowing footprints that would apparently show up where his feet needed to go and the fact that the steps would scroll in front of his face rather than on a screen—and the second the last page of instructions disappeared from his view, the girl grabbed Lance’s waist and led him in.

It surprised Lance that the girl—so much shorter than him—had taken the lead, but he fell into step quickly.

The transparent cues that floated past Lance’s face were almost unnecessary, like sheet music for a musician who had already memorized the song. He glanced at it from time to time, but most of his cues came less from the transparent, blue silhouettes and more from the girl yanking him around like elastic. She really knew what she was doing, and Lance, who was familiar enough with ballroom dancing to have instincts to follow, simply let her guide him. For the most part, that was all Lance needed.

He was quick to realize when instinct wasn’t enough, though. His leg had been a little slow, and it was too far down for the girl’s extra set of arms to guide him as she had done a few times. As a result, his health bar popped up just once, briefly, and the tiniest sliver of black shoved the red back when a sharp sting struck Lance’s ankle.

There were punishments for screwing up. The ghost-like girl wasn’t entirely benevolent, then. But still, it was more creative than boss battle after boss battle. Doubtless, there would be people complaining about minigames when the game was released to the general public, but as for Lance...he loved it.

A dance to get past a bridge, a shooting gallery to call up a portal… Matt and Shiro had some unique tricks up their sleeves. It was a breath of fresh air from the usual fighting and fetching. And Lance was honestly surprised. Not just about those two instances, but about  _Shattering_ as a whole. Aside from the actors who played the NPCs and whoever wrote the sparse music in the game, they were the only people who had worked on it.

 _Shattering_ was innovative, to the point anyone would have thought that it was too ambitious even with a full team, but Matt and Shiro had pulled it off, just the two of them. Maybe Shiro was a jerk sometimes, but he and Matt had made something truly spectacular. It was a true and genuine shame that they would never make anything together ever again.

Another sharp pain struck Lance’s hip, and he dragged his mind back to the present situation just in time to do a twirl under the girl’s jump that was only possible due to a cheerleader-like jump on her part.

But Lance’s attention didn’t stick around for long. Something else drifted through his mind as he caught the girl’s arm and let himself be yanked into her spot.

If Shiro and Matt had made  _Shattering_ together, did that mean they hired a choreographer for the dancing? Or did they choreograph it themselves? Lance could see Matt having a genuine interest in dancing if he found a way to incorporate it into his own RPG, and if he and Shiro were a couple, it wasn’t impossible to imagine Matt dragging Shiro into his idea. Pidge did say that Shiro hadn’t always been the way Lance knew him. If someone as bright and spirited as Matt fell in love with him, he must have had a personality at  _some_  point. Something he lost when Matt died.

And Lance could imagine it. Easily. Matt skipping around as effortlessly as the four-armed girl Lance danced with, laughing and calling Shiro out when he messed up, stolen kisses between failed attempts…

The four-armed girl pulled her hands away from Lance’s, and Lance had to look at his visual cues to figure out the spin he was supposed to do, and when his twirl ended, when his hands met the girl’s again…

...it wasn’t the girl’s hand anymore.

Lance’s breath stuttered in his chest, and his next step faltered, but another blow to his HP reminded him that he had no time to freeze, regardless of the wind that had been knocked out of him or the way his mind began to spin more than Lance himself when he realized that his partner had changed.

Modern VR games were capable of reading minds. Lance knew that. And  _Shattering_ was more advanced than the average game. He knew that, too.

But that didn’t mean he’d been expecting his partner to change the second he’d started thinking about different dancers.

And if he hadn’t been dancing with a ghost before, that changed the second his hand met Matt Holt’s.

But it wasn’t really his hand. Not when Lance looked down at it and saw wider, paler palms, white cotton sleeves instead of the black wool robes he’d been wearing, worn tennis shoes in place of his black boots.

His visual cues still scrolled by, he was still playing the game, and he was still in control of his movements, but his character model had changed.

As bizarre and disorienting as it was, there was no denying that the dance was no longer between Lance and the ghost-like girl. It had never really been their dance to begin with, had it? It had always been Matt and Shiro’s.

So it made sense, in a way, that they had taken it back.

Even the environment had changed. The black receded from their feet and crawled along the floors and up the walls in uneven streaks like paint dripping in reverse.

The floor still glowed where Lance needed to step, but it was harder to see against the white carpet.

Lance turned his head so quickly with every twist Matt pulled him into, trying to make sense of his surroundings, of what was happening, what he was looking at.

A black coffee table pushed out of the way against a glass balcony door, a black sky beyond the edge of the balcony and thousands of twinkling city lights like stars as far as the eye could see, posters of retro video games hanging on the walls in frames, discarded shoes, a kitchen beyond a white archway…

Lance turned his attention back to Matt just barely in time to mirror his kicks.

They were in Shiro’s apartment. Shiro and  _Matt’s_ , once upon a time.

A lively laugh rang out as Matt twirled under Lance’s...or Shiro’s...arm...and Lance couldn’t help feeling he was intruding on something truly personal. Something he never deserved to see.

The memory Lance knew he was reliving should have been Shiro’s and Shiro’s alone. If anyone else in the world deserved to see it, then it would have been Pidge, or Matt’s mom, or even Keith. Not Lance.

As fast-paced as the dance had been since it began, it ended slow. The trumpets held one last note, and Matt twirled one last time before relaxing against what would have been Shiro’s chest all those months ago, as if the dance had exhausted him past the point of being able to stand on his own any longer.

He laughed tiredly and lifted his head, and when he smiled, his eyes shined with so much deep, sincere love that Lance, who knew full well that the look hadn’t been meant for him, felt his heart skip.

He would have given almost  _anything_  for someone to look at him like that.

Shiro was a lucky man.

Or at least he had been.

If nothing else, Lance felt like he understood Shiro a lot better than he did before.

If someone had loved Lance like  _that_ , and he  _lost_ that person, he had no doubt he would have become just as cold, just as angry, just as truly  _sad_  as Shiro was.

As if it was satisfied with the lesson it had taught, that was the exact moment that the memory disappeared. It collapsed all at once, like suspended water that suddenly remembered that it was supposed to behave like water, that gravity still applied, and Lance was back in the forest, at the edge of the bridge, the barrier and the four-armed girl both gone from sight.

A soft thump caught Lance’s ear and he turned around to find Keith kneeling on the ground, white as a sheet.

“Keith, what—”

Lance had tried to take a step forward, only to stumble when his foot caught the fletching of not just one arrow, but an entire row of arrows, each of them half-sunken into the ground as if fired with an impossible force. It wasn’t just that row, either. There was a design, some Altean letter, made from the shafts of countless arrows.

Among the perfectly-placed arrows were just three that didn’t conform to the design.

Lance suddenly understood where his punishment for not dancing perfectly had come from.

“How did you…”

Lance lifted his head and turned toward Keith again. Keith, who looked close to passing out.

“How did…” He shook his head, stunned, breathless. “There were so many arrows, I thought… It was like a black hole— I couldn’t even see the ground, it was a perfect circle, I— How did you...?”

“Dancing,” said Lance, stepping over the arrows, doing his best to maintain the smile on his face despite Keith’s shock. “They only hit you if you didn’t do it perfectly. I got hit a grand total of three times. And not even full-on hit, just nicked. Pretty cool right?”

“I couldn’t do anything,” breathed Keith. “You… I saw your HP drop in the group menu, and I… There was a  _barrier_ , I  _couldn’t_ …”

“Hey…” Lance bent down and offered Keith his hand, not for the first time that evening. “It’s just a game, Man. Worst case scenario, I would have popped back up at the inn with a status effect and we’d have to do the whole bird-bat thing over again.”

Keith stared at his hand for a long, agonizing moment before wrapping his hand around Lance’s wrist instead. The only bare parts of his hand—the tips of his fingers, uncovered by his glove—were like ice against the back of Lance’s arm, but he didn’t mind.

“I didn’t know what was going on past the event horizon,” said Keith, thankfully with a bit more clarity. “If it was a trick… If there was a Galra… If that black lightning came back…”

“I’m not an NPC, though,” said Lance, pulling Keith to his feet. “If that stuff perma-killed my character, I’d just make a new one. I mean, it’d be a pain to level all the way back up to where I was, but it’s not like I wouldn’t come back. It’s just bits and bytes, you know?”

Keith narrowed his eyes at his own hand, still wrapped around Lance’s wrist. “...I guess.” He lifted his gaze without lifting his head, and the sudden, piercing look speared into Lance’s eyes seemed like almost enough to physically wound him.

“ _Don’t_...do that again,” said Keith sharply, gripping Lance’s wrist too hard.

“Aww…” Lance raised his free hand to his heart, which was beating just a little bit harder than it really should have been. Just a bit. “Was Keithy-Weithy worried about me?”

Keith threw Lance’s arm like it was a dish he was trying to break and marched past him, toward the bridge.

“Yes,” he said coldly. “I was.”

 

* * *

 

Keith was still shaking when he led the way into the cave on the other end of the bridge. He just hoped Lance hadn’t noticed.

The last time Keith had felt that helpless was when he was stuck under debris in the burning bakery. Lance had saved him that time, and then they’d saved the baker together. But when Lance was the one in trouble, Keith couldn’t think of a single solution. He just screamed and punched the barrier and threw his shoulder into it again and again until he ran out of stamina.

And then Lance had gotten himself out, looking perhaps startled by whatever had happened, but no worse for the wear.

 _What if we can’t be the team I want to be?_  thought Keith, glaring at the cave floor and avoiding a suspicious-looking blue square he’d almost stepped on.  _What if I’m not providing anything? What if Lance could do this better on his own?_

“Keith…”

Keith stopped in his tracks and turned around. He found Lance staring at him with a guilty expression, holding his sides. If it was cold in the cave, Keith hadn’t noticed, but if anyone would have, it was Lance. “...Yeah?”

Lance licked his lips and held his sides tighter. “About…” He sighed sharply. “Keith, about the dancing thing… You didn’t see any of that, did you?”

“Any of...what?” Keith furrowed his brow. “Did something happen?”

Lance grimaced. “I… Yes? I mean,  _no._ ” He let go of his sides and held out his hands like he was trying to stop time. “It was just a… There was a glitch, I think? I’m just trying to figure out if it was a bug or if, like, maybe Shiro put it there for some reason, or…” He pushed his hand through his hair. “I don’t know, it… It was just weird. I’ll...talk to Shiro about it later. Maybe. Forget I said anything.”

Keith put a hand on the wall. “What did you see?”

“ _Nothing,_ ” insisted Lance hurriedly. “Nothing, nothing at all, it was just kinda weird in there, that’s it, nothing else. Definitely nothing for you to worry about. Just kinda...general...impersonal...weirdness.”

Keith dropped his gaze back to the floor. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew Lance was hiding something from him. But if he didn’t want to share what he saw, then Keith couldn’t blame him.

“Right, well…” Keith turned back around. “Just...watch your step in here. I think there might be traps. Keep your eyes open for switches and trip-wires.”

“You think the cave might be booby-trapped,” said Lance, audibly unimpressed. “We’ve been in here for, like, ten minutes. When were you going to tell me this?”

“I just did,” said Keith. “And it’s not the whole cave. It’s just this tunnel. I’ve seen a few markings. I’m just saying be careful.”

“You’ve ‘seen a few markings’,” deadpanned Lance. “Man, I don’t know how you can see  _anything_  in here. It’s pitch b—”

What sounded like the amplified echo of a snapping twig ricocheted across the cave walls, followed by a slow, grinding, scraping sound.

Keith winced. “Lance… What did you do?”

“Uhhhh…” Keith could hear the grimace in Lance’s voice as well. “Well… The part of the floor I just stepped on may or may not have just, y’know...depressed...an inch or two.”

The grinding sound continued, building louder and louder. The ground beneath Keith’s feet began to shake. He whipped around and grabbed Lance’s arm. “Run!”

“Way ahead of you!” Lance bolted down the corridor, keeping pace with Keith. “But—just to be clear—we’re being chased by a boulder right now, right? Like straight up action-adventure movie shenanigans?”

A long, metal spike trembled just past the surface of the cave wall, right where their heads were about to be.

“Duck!”

“Somehow, Keith, I  _don’t_ think we’re being chased by a—”

“No,  _duck!_ ”

Keith yanked Lance down by the collar of his robes, just in time for Lance to avoid being speared. Even if he didn’t see the spike, he must have heard it, because he certainly reacted when it nearly hit him. His scream was almost louder than the rumbling.

“ _How did you_ — _?!_ ”

“Just shut up and trust me!” snapped Keith. A section came up from the floor, a short wall, ankle-high, clearly intended to trip whoever was running through. “Jump!”

“On it!”

They both cleared the short wall, though Lance jumped much higher than necessary.

The ceiling began to shake. Keith threw his arm out.

“Stop!”

Lance skidded to a halt, just in time to nearly get crushed by a pillar that pounded the ground right in front of them.

Keith stole a glance over his shoulder. The boulder was hot on their heels, perhaps four meters behind them at the farthest, and that distance was decreasing fast.

The pillar raised again and Keith clapped a hand to Lance’s back. “Go!  _Go!_ ”

“I’m going!” screeched Lance.

The cave began to narrow, and a series of what looked like small canons emerged from holes in the wall on Keith’s side. He had a feeling he knew what they were.

“Right!”

“What do you mean ‘ _right’?!_ ”

“Go right!” Keith slammed Lance to the right with his shoulder just before the flames on the left side of the cave erupted. In doing so, they brightened the admittedly light in the cave, and Keith noticed something.

Lance’s eyes.

“Why are your eyes  _closed?!_ ”

“You said to trust you!” screeched Lance. “I’m trusting you!”

Keith would have loved to have time to let that sink in, but with another row of tiny metal tubes appearing on Lance’s side of the cave, there was no such time to spare.

“Left!” Keith hopped back to his side of the narrow corridor, pulling Lance along with him by the arm.

The fire flared up on Lance’s side just like it had for Keith’s, leaving Lance stringing a long line of words in that language Keith didn’t know, but he could guess from the tone that they were curses.

The glint of an axe head caught Keith’s attention from the lower corner of the tunnel. “Jump!”

Lance jumped.

Another axe came swinging toward them from overhead like a pendulum. “Duck!”

Lance ducked.

“Duck again!”

Lance ducked again.

It occurred in the back of Keith’s mind that he could probably tell Lance to do anything at this point and he most likely would, but even if things weren’t so urgent, he wouldn’t want to take advantage of the trust he was given.

Several more tubes appeared from the cave walls, though they were smaller this time, not quite so canon-like. More like straws. Keith scanned the tubes near the bottom of the cave and the ones near the top, and he winced.

“Lance? How good are you at tumbling?”

“Like a cheerleader?” asked Lance.

“Sure,” said Keith hurriedly.

“I was a cheerleader in high school, but that was a while ago. Why?”

“Can you stick a landing?”

“Probably?”

Keith sighed sharply. “Probably” would have to suffice. “Imagine there’s a waist-high hoop—”

“Just tell me when!”

Keith waited a beat. “Now!”

He and Lance both jumped. Lance was much more graceful, though a bit less precise, going on blind faith. The darts that fired out of the cave walls nearly hit him, and Keith was worried, for a split second, that he’d told Lance to jump too late, but as close as Lance came, he seemed to clear the darts just fine.

“You good?” asked Keith once Lance came out of the roll he’d done at the bottom.

“I’ll tell you once I’ve opened my eyes,” said Lance.

They reached the bottom of a slope, and Keith’s eye caught a glimpse of early morning light from the very end of the tunnel.

“Uh, now might be a good time,” said Keith, and Lance must have taken his advice, because less than a second later, the nervousness hit him.

“Is that the end of the cave?”

“Yep.”

“With nothing on the other side?”

“Looks like it.”

“Okay,” said Lance warily. “Why are you so calm?”

“Because I know Matt and Shiro,” said Keith. “Get ready to jump.”

“Jump where?!” demanded Lance.

Keith stole a glance over his shoulder. The boulder had gone from four meters away to less than one.

“Look, you trusted me when your eyes were closed,” said Keith, turning toward Lance. “Trust me when they’re open.”

“I…” Lance hesitated.

Keith couldn’t really blame him, but they didn’t have time for it.

“Lance!”

“Okay! Yeah! I can do that!”

“Good,” said Keith, turning his eyes on the quickly-approaching end of the tunnel. “Because you’ve got five seconds.”

Lance took a deep breath. Deep enough that Keith heard it despite the boulder mere feet behind them.

“Four.”

Keith took a breath of his own. Lance wasn’t the only one trusting someone.

“Three.”

_I hope I’m right._

“Two.”

_Matt, Shiro... Don’t let me down._

“One!”

Keith pushed off the cave floor at the last possible second. He felt a corner under the arch of his foot a split second before it parted from the stone, and everything after that was a whirlwind of spinning colors and barely-grasped sights so much relative silence it was deafening.

And then...it settled, and there was nothing but the pale yellow-pink of the early morning sky and the sound of Lance’s heavy breathing by Keith’s head as he regained his stamina.

“You— Keith—”

“Yeah,” said Keith, winded himself. “I was right, I know. Short gap and then solid ground a few feet below sight. Matt and Shiro wouldn’t out a death trap like that.”

“ _No_ ,” said Lance emphatically. “You  _counted right!_ ”

“I…” Keith pushed himself up on one elbow. “What?”

Lance pushed himself up as well, wearing the brightest smile Keith had ever seen. “Remember when we were trying to get across that hole in the floor in the bakery?”

Keith nodded slowly.

“We kept sliding because you counted wrong.” Lance leaned in closer. “If you didn’t count right when we jumped just now, I would have jumped way too early and wound up in that hole with the boulder!”

“There isn’t a right way or a wrong way,” said Keith firmly. “There are just different ways—”

“But you adapted to mine,” said Lance, and Keith swore his eyes were  _glittering_. “You knew it’d be my gut instinct to jump on the last number instead of on ‘go’ or ‘jump’ or whatever.”

“I wasn’t…” Keith furrowed his brow. “I wasn’t really thinking about— You’re the one who trusted me! You had your  _eyes closed_  through most of that!”

Lance laughed and let himself fall back to the ground. “I couldn’t see anything anyway!” He threw his arms into the air in an exasperated gesture. “What difference did it make?!”

“You…” A breathless laugh pushed past Keith’s lips. “God... You really  _were_ blind in there, weren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah?” Lance let his arms fall to either side. “It was pitch black! I don’t know  _how_  the hell you were able to see so well— It’s not that funny, Keith!”

Keith fell backward into the grass and the flowers and covered his face with one gloved hand. His face, but not his mouth. He was laughing much too hard to even bother trying to stifle it, and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was just...everything. “I was so—so insecure!”

“What?” Lance’s tone turned to concern, but Keith still couldn’t stop laughing even in spite of that

“When we went into the cave,” he managed through his hysterics. “No,  _all night!_  You were so— So on top of everything! I was supposed to be the one who knows Altea, who knows the whole game! I was supposed to be the one taking charge, but I just kept messing up!”

“Uh, Keith…”

“No!” Keith threw his arm over his eyes. “No, I did! I told you to do the wrong thing on the bird, I had no idea what to do with the girl at the bridge, I can’t dance so I wouldn’t have been able to do it even if I did figure out what she wanted, I couldn’t get past the barrier to help you even though I thought you were in trouble— I felt so worthless!” He rubbed down his face with both hands and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, laughing harder than ever.

“Keith…” The grass and flowers beside Keith rustled as Lance inched closer. “That’s… That’s not funny.”

“No, it is!” insisted Keith. “It is, because after all that, you—you stepped—on the most  _obvious switch—_ ”

“It wasn’t  _that_ obvious—”

“It had a bright blue outline!” barked Keith. “‘Bright blue square on the ground? Better stand on it—’”

“I didn’t see anything!”

“I know!” laughed Keith, still covering his eyes. “I know! That’s why it’s funny! I felt so incompetent the whole night, and then you make the most  _idiotic mistake_ —”

“Hey!”

“—and I have to lead you through a dark cave— You had your  _eyes closed!_ ”

Lance shoved Keith’s shoulder—hard, but playful—and Keith rolled onto his side, only laughing harder.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” muttered Lance, barely audible over Keith’s laughter.

Keith finally lowered his hands and turned to look at Lance, grinning. “Me neither. Not since before my dad died.”

Lance raised his eyebrows, and his gaze softened.

Keith sat up and shoved at Lance’s chest, still smiling. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re supposed to be an asshole.”

Lance sat back on his heels. “Yeah, well—”

“Seriously, Lance.” Keith shook his head. “Not now, okay? Go find your mouse.”

Lance’s answering sigh landed somewhere between submissive and frustrated. “Okay, fine.” He grumbled as he climbed to his feet. “As long as we don’t have to do anything else crazy. Do you realize we went through four trials when one would have sufficed?  _Four._  The Globinheffer thing, the bird thing, the dance thing, the getting-chased-by-a-giant-rock-through-a-pitch-black-tunnel-with-fire-shooting-at-us thing…”

“I’m pretty sure you’re fine,” said Keith, pointing behind Lance’s long legs. “Look.”

Down the hill they were sitting on, past several square feet of flowers, in the middle of the hollowed-out mountain they were in, at the point where two shallow streams bisected one another sat a large, dinner-table-sized stump, and curled atop the very center of that stump was a tiny blue dot, just barely visible through the early morning fog that drifted through the valley. It was hard to tell from such a distance, especially through that fog, but there was at least one round ear perked up above the mouse’s head.

“That’s it?” asked Lance.

“That’s her,” said Keith, smiling. “Go ahead and talk to her. I’ll be here if you need me.”

Lance turned to face Keith and frowned, clearly still concerned. “What are you gonna do?”

“Take a nap,” said Keith, reclining into the flowers and closing his eyes. “Did kind of stay up all night to get you here.”

“It’s, like, two in the after—ohh.” Lance shifted audibly. “Are you...running on Altean time?”

Keith grunted noncommittally.

“I… Huh.” Another audible shift. “...Okay, you can rest. This won’t take long. Like, she wouldn’t need me to go on a fetch quest, right? Not after all the crap we went through to get here.”

Keith grunted again.

“Okay,” said Lance. “Be right back.”

His footsteps retreated down the hill and disappeared, leaving Keith alone with his fatigue and his thoughts.

Lance was weird. Not a bad weird, just...weird. He could catch the most subtle of hints and fall for the most obvious of traps in the same night, even after Keith warned him to look out for traps. He’d been enthralled by the ride on the back of the sand bird, proving that he was telling the truth when he claimed he wasn’t afraid of heights, but climbing down the side of a cliff on the back of something built for that very purpose terrified him. He could be prickly and angry and pedantic and defensive in one breath, then gentle and honest and sincere and more caring than Keith had ever known people could be in the next.

Weird.

But...Keith didn’t mind it. Lance was just Lance, and Keith was really starting to appreciate that. Almost to the point where Keith felt bad for dragging him into the whole mess with Zarkon.

Still, though, in lieu of Shiro and Matt and Allura, Keith could think of no one he’d rather have on his side. It was them against the world, and yet, something about Lance made Keith feel like they still had a chance of winning.

Lance’s footsteps came shifting back, disrupting the flowers, and Keith waited for him to speak up, but he didn’t. Instead, Keith felt the faintest pinpricks of cold across his face.

Keith frowned and opened his eyes, and when he did, he found Lance looming over him, smirking playfully, tiny white spots forming underneath his outstretched hand.

“Kinda snowy,” he said in a tone that made Keith feel like he was missing some context.

All the same, Keith just rolled his eyes and sat up. His smile had wormed its way back to his face. “Not exactly handy in a fight.”

“No,” said Lance, dropping down in a crouch, snowflakes still forming under his palm, “but I can actually use this magic without freaking out.” His smirk widened. “You’ve got a little something in your hair, by the way.”

Keith reached into his hair and shook it out, sending snowflakes flying. “Whose fault is that, huh?”

“Never said it wasn’t my fault,” said Lance, reaching over Keith’s head. “I’m just saying there’s something there.”

Keith laughed, perhaps because he still felt a little giggly from before, and pushed Lance’s hand away. “Cut it out.”

“Make me,” teased Lance, pushing against Keith’s hand.

Keith caught his wrist, grinning, and it quickly turned into a tired, half-hearted wrestling match, one that ended quickly with Keith lying on his back again and Lance lying beside him, resting his chin in his no-longer-snowing hand.

“You know,” he said, his voice unusually soft. “I was kind of thinking about something on my way down the hill and back.”

“Mmhmm?” Keith turned his head toward Lance and rested his hands on his stomach. “What?”

“You said you felt useless tonight,” said Lance, “but without you helping me, I don’t think I ever would have found where this mouse was. Like, standing on a picture of a bird on a hard-to-get-to beach at exactly sunset? How was I supposed to figure  _that_  out?”

“Same way I did,” said Keith. “Talking to NPCs.”

“Okay,” said Lance dismissively, “but I didn’t know anything about Globinheffers. You had to teach me how to ride them.”

“You would have figured it out eventually,” said Keith, shrugging against the grass.

“Not anywhere near as fast, though,” said Lance. “And you kept the bird from throwing us off when I missed my mark. I mean, I’m a good shot, but I’m not a perfect shot.”

“Yeah,” said Keith, “but the only reason you messed up that first time was that I told you the wrong thing.”

“Not the second one, though,” said Lance. “That was all me. And then you got us safely to the bridge through that super dense forest without getting us lost or taking some super dangerous route.”

“I live in a forest,” said Keith, shrugging again. “I know how to navigate them.”

“And that helped us,” said Lance. “Why are you saying it like having a reason for something makes it less impressive? Admit it.” His smile turned into a smirk. “I couldn’t have done this without you, and you couldn’t have done this without me. We make a good team.”

Keith hummed thoughtfully and turned to look up at the sky.

_A good team, huh?_

Maybe they could be one. It would take a little bit longer to get used to one another, Keith knew that, but...he could see it happening. Each of them picking up the other’s slack, being strong where the other was weak. Maybe they had a chance.

“I guess…”

Keith trailed off.

His brow knitted.

“What the…”

His armor clattered noisily against itself as he sat up, his eyes on the sky.

“Keith,” said Lance warily, “what is that?”

“I-I don’t know,” said Keith. Ice cold horror crawled through his chest and coiled around his heart. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

It looked though if someone had broken the very sky. There was just...an angular, uneven-sided piece  _missing_ , and vibrant colors jittering and twitching in its place, like technicolor screen static.

It surged, and black lightning danced across the sky stemming from that broken piece, as if it were some sort of horrendous storm cloud.

“Did you see—?”

“Yeah,” replied Keith, just barely resisting the urge to shudder. “I saw.”

Elsewhere in the sky, exactly at the point where that black lightning had struck out, another piece of the sky disappeared, replaced with that same unnatural static. It didn’t shatter like glass, it didn’t flicker out of existence, it was simply there one moment and gone the next.

Another piece went missing.

And then another.

And with every shard of the sky that vanished, the valley became a little darker, and Keith’s breathing became a little more shallow.

“Something’s wrong.”

“Yeah, no kidding!” screeched Lance. “The frikkin’ sky is falling apart!”

But it wasn’t just the sky.

Pieces of the natural stone walls surrounding the valley began to deteriorate one by one by one. It spread to the flowers, then to the streams, then to the stump where the mouse still sat, all faster than Keith could even absorb what was happening.

And then it reached the mouse herself.

Keith whipped around and grabbed Lance by the shoulders. “Log out,” he said urgently. “Now. I don’t know what’s happening or what it’ll do to you. You have to go.”

“Like hell I do!” snapped Lance, grabbing Keith’s wrists and yanking them off his shoulders. “I’m not leaving unless you do!”

“I can’t!” cried Keith, fighting Lance’s hands to hold his face in a desperate attempt to make him understand. Another section of flowers disappeared in the corner of his eye. Whatever that stuff was, it was getting closer. “I’m stuck here! I haven’t seen Earth in a  _year_! I  _can’t leave!_ ”

“Then neither can I!” Lance grabbed the front of Keith’s armor. “We’re supposed to be a team! I’m not abandoning you!”

“You’re not helping me!” screamed Keith. “There’s nothing you can do! It’s spreading too fast for you to make a difference! You’re just putting yourself in danger for no reason! I’m  _fucked_ , but you have a chance, and you’re not taking it! What part of that don’t you understand?!”

“The part where I leave you here!” said Lance. The chunk of flowers right beneath their feet disappeared. “I’m not going!” The steadily vanishing light made it hard for even Keith to see anymore, and yet Lance was still somehow holding his gaze.

Keith’s chest felt like ice. For the first time, he truly understood why Lance was so afraid of the cold. It felt like a slash from the claws of Death when it reached that deep down.

Tears—angry, desperate, heartbroken tears—rolled down Keith’s cheeks before he could stop them. He wasn’t sure exactly when Lance had become his best friend, maybe when he agreed to help Keith the previous morning, maybe during the battle at Lover’s Lake, maybe long before then, but at some point, it  _had_  happened, and he was seconds away from potential  _brain death_  because he refused to let go of someone who had lost his humanity a year before.

Or maybe humanity was something Keith never had in the first place.

“I’m not leaving you,” said Lance, a quiet but passionate oath.

Keith pressed his eyes shut and leaned forward until his forehead met Lance’s chest. His shoulders trembled and a choked sob pushed past his clenched teeth.

“You  _have_  to.”

“Keith, II͚̖̝̮̼͈͢I̫̞͘I̬̟̭͍̮I̱Ị̛̥̹̭i̖̮̟i̯̖͜i̱͡i̡̗̻͇̟̟͖i͕̠͎̳̙̟i͚i̡̜͖͇i͙͓”

Keith lifted his head.

Lance’s model was still there, frozen in place, but his textures had disappeared, and all that was left in their place was the sparking, dissonant, writhing remains of color as the last bit of sound Lance had made repeated itself indefinitely like the death rattle of a broken machine.

A word formed on Keith’s tongue. A name. He’d meant to scream it.

He didn’t get the chance.

 

* * *

 

Shiro threw his headset against the wall with a cry of furious anguish.

His lamp crashed to the floor and immediately shattered upon impact.

Pans and utensils he hadn’t used since Matt left him clattered noisily to the counters beneath their hooks.

Matt’s framed Killbot Phantasm poster detached itself from the wall and broke into pieces.

Shiro fell to his knees, pressed his forehead to the carpet, and threw his arm over his head.

The rest of the world could turn to dust for all he cared.

The only part of it that mattered to him already had.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter I've eeeever written.


	29. Troubleshooting

It was with a strange mix of sadness, guilt, and relief that Matt watched Allura and Shiro exchange their goodbyes.

Allura was one of Matt’s best friends. She had been for years. No part of him should have been _relieved_ to see her leave the country. Though he was still very sad to see her go, there was still a part of him—a resentful, jealous part of him that he absolutely detested—that was comforted knowing that she and Shiro weren’t likely to get back together.

Allura ended her embrace with Shiro and pulled back, still grasping Shiro’s elbows for a moment longer, both of them smiling, but sadness in their eyes.

She stepped back from Shiro and moved on to Keith. That hug was a little more stilted, but still clearly genuine.

“Take care of your father, will you?” whispered Allura, her voice low, just barely audible over the arrival announcements from the intercom. “You never know how you’ve taken someone for granted until your time runs short.”

“I know,” said Keith softly, though not quite as soft as Allura. “You don’t have to tell me.”

He squeezed Allura tight for a moment longer, then released her.

They exchanged one last bittersweet smile, and Allura turned to Matt.

For the first time, it really sank in how much Matt was going to miss her. No more pizza nights or weekends away with his three best friends. No more excited chattering about cosplay, not when Keith and Shiro weren’t quite as interested in it as Allura was. No more rooms filled with Allura’s songs, with her piano or her violin or even just her voice.

She was really leaving.

Allura pulled Matt into a tight hug before he could get teary and turned her lips toward his ear. Her voice wasn't even a whisper, just a breath compared to even how she spoke to Keith.

“Shiro’s your responsibility now,” she murmured. “I’m counting on you. Don’t let me down.”

“I… What?” Heat crawled up Matt’s neck and pooled where it met his cheeks. “I'm not… He can take care of himself.”

“You know what I mean,” whispered Allura. “And if you don’t just yet, you will.”

She pulled back, reached toward Matt’s face, and brushed her thumbs across his cheeks like a doting mother. “I’m going to miss you,” she said, just barely louder than she had been. “All of you.” She lifted her head and turned toward Keith and Shiro. “Never think for a second that I won’t.”

The intercom announced that Allura’s flight was boarding and she stepped back.

“Better hurry,” she said quickly, grabbing her carry-on bag. “Got a long, boring flight ahead of me.”

“Be safe,” said Keith.

“Let us know when you land,” said Shiro.

Matt shrugged. He wasn’t really sure what to say. Nothing seemed to do their parting justice.

“...Don’t forget us out there.”

Allura smiled sadly. “Never.”

With that, she was gone, and the darkness left in the absence of her light was earth-shattering.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Lance noticed when he opened his eyes was that he was trapped in a bear hug, then that his bedroom door frame was pressed into his back.

And then that his bedroom was swaying.

“Hunk?”

The arms around Lance tightened. “I got you, buddy.”

A crash echoed through the hallway from the living room, followed by a few wooden thumps and a brief flicker of the lights.

And then the swaying began to slow, and Hunk carefully let Lance go and sat back on his heels.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I…” Lance reached up for his headset and carefully pulled it off. It was abnormally warm. “I’m fine. But did you see—”

“What happened to Altea?” Hunk laughed sharply. “You think I could miss something like that? It was _awful._ Shay was terrified. Even Stinky was nervous, and you know, an oozing blob pacing around the room might have been almost funny if not for the fact that Shay was screaming at me to get out.”

Lance closed his eyes and furrowed his brow. “Yeah, I… Keith was the same way.” He gripped his headset and lifted his head to look Hunk in the eye. “You think it has something to do with the earthquake?”

“That’d be one hell of a coincidence if it didn’t,” said Hunk. “Come on.” He climbed to his feet, visibly weary. “I’m...gonna clean up whatever broke. You call Pidge.”

“Got it,” said Lance, his hand already in his pocket.

A bright green _calling_ icon wiggled in the middle of Lance’s screen, Hunk groaned audibly about a broken mixing bowl, and Lance’s stomach flipped and twisted under his heart.

Keith couldn’t leave Altea. Lance hadn’t had the time to ask what he meant by that, not when the world was literally falling apart all around them, but it couldn’t have been good.

 _He’s been missing for a year, and he’s been in the game for a year. Okay. That can’t be a coincidence, right? But what does that mean? It’s not like he could get physically sucked into the game. Is his body lying around somewhere? Is he a John Doe in a hospital someplace? Is he hooked up to some makeshift life support in someone’s basement somewhere with a modified headset that can’t log out? What if he ran away and he_ died _playing the game and—_

“Lance!”

Lance flinched so violently he nearly dropped his phone. “Quiz— Pidge!”

Pidge squinted at him through the screen. “Were you about to say ‘quiznak’?”

Lance flushed. “ _No!_ I was just— That doesn’t matter! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” said Pidge. “Mom and Bae Bae are safe, too.” Concern flashed across their face. “Is Hunk—?”

“Right here!” Hunk called from the end of the hallway, jogging in.

Pidge’s head lolled forward in visible relief. “Okay.” When they lifted their head again, there was a hardened determination to their expression. “Were you guys logged in to Altea? Did you see what happened?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Hunk, dropping to Lance’s side and resting an arm on his shoulder. “We saw.”

“What do you know, Pidge?” asked Lance. “Any explanation for why that happened?”

“I’ve got suspicions,” said Pidge. “That weird, colored static? I’ve seen it before, but only ever on old PCs. And when it happened on those old PCs, the whole screen went out, not just segments of it. I doubt the same exact thing could happen to a server, and I don’t think it would look the same as it did if that _was_ what happened, but maybe Matt tried to make some kind of failsafe, almost like a Parallel circuit instead of a series circuit so he could keep the game running if parts of the hardware got damaged, but if the _whole thing_ got— Okay, I can see Lance’s focus waning.” Pidge raised an eyebrow. “Point is, I think I know what happened here. Does anyone mind if I add Shiro to the call?”

Lance lifted his head and turned to Hunk, who shrugged.

“Fine with us,” said Lance. “As long as we fix what happened.”

Pidge nodded, and a few seconds later, a second window sporting nothing but a green call button pushed Pidge’s face to the bottom of the screen. Lance, Hunk, and Pidge all waited in silence for Shiro to pick up. Lance stole a look at Hunk through the corner of his eye. For a moment, he was sure that Shiro wouldn’t pick up.

And then he did. Shiro’s face filled up his half of the screen, and—

_Holy shit._

Lance felt bad for thinking that, but he hadn’t seen Shiro since the funeral, and he…

Well, it was clear that he hadn’t been taking the best care of himself since then.

His hair had grown out quite a bit, more than Lance would have guessed possible in the few months that had gone by since they’d last seen each other, and it was messy and visibly oily, like he hadn’t showered in some time. It was also clear that he hadn’t _shaved_  in some time, and judging by the bags under his eyes, sleep had been off the table as well.

“Shiro?” Pidge’s eyes were wide from their side of the screen.

“I’m guessing this is about Altea,” said Shiro, his tone defeated, broken. “And no, I don’t know what happened.”

“We didn’t call to ask what happened,” said Pidge quietly. “We called because we want to fix it.”

“Look, Pidge,” said Shiro, terse, impatient, “I don’t know how. The whole system is too complicated. Matt tried to explain it to me a few times, but it all went over my head.” Shiro’s dark gaze avoided the screen, his eyes shadowed by his long hair. “I’m an artist. I only know basic code. I was barely able to make a playable, half-finished product out of what he left behind. I could fix small collision errors and texture glitches, little things, but something like this— I can’t even access—”

His voice cracked, and the phone tilted back to face the ceiling with an unsettling clatter, suggesting Shiro had either dropped it or set it down harshly. From the very bottom of his window, at an awkward angle, Lance watched him bury his face in one hand.

And for the first time, Lance was aware of the way Shiro dealt with his emotions. Or, better put, the way he didn’t deal with his emotions. At all. He simply built glass walls, walls that were transparent but far too tall to climb over, walls with broken pieces that cut anyone who got too close. He was angry because he was sad, and because he was tired from trying to carry Altea on his shoulders when he was already dealing with so much.

It was hard for Lance to mistake that after he’d spent so much time around Keith.

_You guys really are related, huh?_

“Shiro, it’s a hardware error, not a software error.” Pidge spoke up softly. Determined, but gentle. “We don’t need to access Altea to fix it. We just need to go to the server room.”

“That doesn’t make it better, Pidge,” said Shiro. “If something broke, and it’s something that had important data on it, then that’s lost for good. Altea’s gone.”

“I’m not saying it broke,” said Pidge. “I’m saying the earthquake probably dislodged something. Multiple somethings, by the look of it. We just need to figure out which parts and shove them back in. I mean, it’ll take a while. Like ‘world’s biggest light show runs on a single series circuit and one bulb went out’ kind of monotony, but we can still fix it. Hunk and I know what we’re doing.”

Shiro didn’t say anything at first. He sat there, his hand still covering his face, but after a moment, he slowly reached for his phone, and his face, still tired-looking yet much less hopeless, filled the screen properly once again.

“Let me get you the address.”

 

* * *

 

Hunk and Lance, who had made a quick detour for a necessary food stop, arrived some time after Shiro and Pidge. They punched a quick number into the keypad by the door and followed Shiro’s directions to the room on the third floor.

“I don’t like it in here,” whispered Hunk. “It’s too quiet. It feels like a hospital. Or, like, a school after everyone else has gone home.”

Lance shrugged. “You want to help Shay, right?”

“Well, _yeah,_ ” said Hunk. “I’m here, aren’t I? All I’m saying is it feels weird. Like we’re not supposed to be here. Like a liminal space combined with trespassing. You feel it too, right?”

Lance hesitated. “My mind’s kind of been on...other things.”

“Yeah, your mystery guy,” said Hunk, guessing accurately. “You… You think they’re okay, right? Like, do you think they’re all basically sleeping? Or just, like, frozen in time? Or do you think they’re, like… Because, like, when we sleep, our brains are still working, but when a computer shuts down, everything stops. And when _we_ do that, like… That’s dying.”

Lance flinched, and his hand crunched around the folded end of the fast food bag in his hand.

“Sorry,” said Hunk. “I’m just… I’m worried. And I know you are, too, I just— I talk when I’m worried.”

“Yeah,” said Lance. “I know.”

“And it’s not even _that_ that I’m worried about the most,” said Hunk. “Like, dying… It’s all data. We can bring them back from that. What’d be worse is stuff being _erased_. Like, what if we fix everything and there’s, like, a full system restore, and everyone in Altea totally forgets about us? Or what if there’s an aftershock while everything is open and taken apart and that causes some real permanent damage?”

Lance shot Hunk a glare. “Not helping.”

“Sorry,” said Hunk again. “I know I’m not. I just hate knowing that Shay’s in trouble and I can’t _do anything._ ”

“You _are_ doing something, though,” said Lance, his glare turning to the floor. “More than me anyway. You’re fixing the servers or whatever, and what did I do? I bought _lunch._ ”

“We still appreciate that, though,” said Hunk. “And Shiro’s just as lost as you are. Think about what he’s going through, you know? Like, from what I understand, _Shattering_ was Matt’s _dream._ Imagine being in charge of something _that important_ that someone you loved left behind and having it blow up in your face. If something like that happened to me, like if you or Pidge were working on something and you guys died and it was up to me to finish it and something happened to it that I couldn’t fix, and I had to rely on someone else to do it...  I don’t… I don’t know, man, I think I’d lose my mind.”

Lance lifted his head, and at the end of the hall, he saw Shiro sitting on the floor outside of a door, dressed in sweats and tennis shoes, one hand tangled in his hair. He looked like even more of a mess than he had over the phone.

“No kidding,” muttered Lance. “Hey, Hunk…” He leaned in close and nudged Hunk’s arm with his own. “You go on ahead and help Pidge. I’m gonna make sure he’s okay.”

“You sure?” asked Hunk.

“It’s not like I’d be able to help you guys.” Lance shrugged. “Maybe this is something I actually can do.”

“Yeah, sure.” Hunk held up one of the bags in his hands and awkwardly shifted to accommodate for the drink. “I think this one’s Shiro’s. Trade me.”

Once Hunk was safely inside the server room with the door closed securely behind him, Lance lowered himself to the floor next to Shiro, careful not to spill the drinks in the crook of his arm, and offered one of the bags to Shiro.

“Here.”

Shiro warily lowered his arm and raised his head. “I told you not to get me anything.”

“Yeah,” said Lance, “and I’m also guessing you haven’t eaten in a while, so I made an executive decision. Enjoy your chicken sandwich.”

“What would you have done if I was vegan?” asked Shiro taking the bag with a scowl that was more curiosity than frustration. Yeah, he and Keith were definitely related.

“Traded your sandwich for my fries,” said Lance, shrugging. “Besides, I ran the order by Pidge to make sure. No offense, but you look like hell, and I wasn’t about to let you get away with not eating.”

“I probably smell worse,” grumbled Shiro. “I haven’t showered in…” He frowned. “A while. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Lance. “You smell more like deodorant than anything else. Buckets and buckets of deodorant.”

“I was trying to smother it,” admitted Shiro, setting the bag between his legs to open it with his hand. He’d clearly foregone the prosthetic Lance had seen him use at the funeral.

“It’s cool, man.” Lance offered the drink. Root beer, as per Pidge’s suggestion. “I think we’ve all got bigger things to worry about than whether or not you smell like an entire bar of Steel Courage.”

Shiro took the drink and shrugged one shoulder.

Lance took a deep breath. He wished he knew Shiro better than he did. Honestly, he’d learned more about Shiro from the _dance situation_ than every other conversation they’d had combined. But maybe he could still help.

“So, everything okay in your house post-earthquake?”

“One of my lamps broke,” said Shiro quietly. “And a...a poster frame. Everything else is fine.” He turned his head toward the door. “The server room got it worse. When Pidge and I got here, it… The clusters looked like dominos. There were drives all over the floor. Things that should have been locked were scattered. Cables were unplugged and...maybe broken. Pidge wasn’t sure.”

Lance winced. Well, there was their problem. “We must be closer to the epicenter on this side of town.”

“I need to find a way to bolt everything to the floor.” Shiro turned his attention back to his bag. “If...we find a way to fix all this.”

“I might not have known Matt well,” said Lance, “but I knew him enough by reputation to know that Pidge is basically a mini-Matt. And Hunk knows what he’s doing, too. Trust me, they could fix anything.”

“Maybe,” muttered Shiro, glaring into the bag rather than reaching into it.

“Definitely,” said Lance. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Pidge has just as much reason to keep Altea online as you do. They’re not going to stop until everything’s working again.”

Shiro didn’t answer. He didn’t do anything. He just...sat there. Staring into his bag.

And Lance couldn’t help asking the question he’d been avoiding since he arrived.

“Are you okay?”

Shiro narrowed his eyes.

“Look,” said Lance, “I know we don’t really know each other, and I know you’re my boss, and I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I still think you’re a good person. And I don’t think you deserve to go through everything you’re going through. Not alone.”

“I don’t really have much of a choice,” said Shiro, seemingly more to himself than to Lance. “I don’t have any family left, I don’t have friends anymore, and I don’t have Matt. What else am I supposed to do?”

Lance looked down at the floor by his legs. “I… I know that has to be hard. I’ve never gone through anything like that. I mean, I’ve… I’ve lost people before, but...I always had my family. And I’ve got Pidge and Hunk, too, so I know I’m not alone if something else happens, but…” He carefully nudged Shiro’s arm. “Pidge obviously cares about you. And Hunk and I don’t know you that well, but we could. Losing someone you love hurts. Especially when they love you back as much as I know Matt loved you.” The look in Matt’s eyes still burned in Lance’s mind. “But being alone is a wound all on its own. And even though you can’t bring Matt or anyone else back, you can still fix _that_ part, right?”

“It’s not that easy,” said Shiro, pushing his food aside.

“I know it’s not,” said Lance. “But we’re all right here, and we want to help you.” He glanced at Shiro’s shoulder. “It’s… It’s like your arm. I’m guessing you lost it to some kind of injury, right?”

Shiro shrugged. Lance took it as a yes.

“It probably hurt a lot,” said Lance, “and I bet a lot of things changed for you when you lost it. It probably took you a while to get used to functioning without it, too. But if you weren’t taken care of after the amputation, you would have bled out and died, right?”

Shiro lifted his head and met Lance’s eyes. His anger and frustration had faded somewhat, and the vulnerability that had been hiding behind that mask was as transparent as glass.

“This is how you take care of yourself after a different piece of you gets amputated,” said Lance. “You have to get patched up. Otherwise, you’ll just bleed out.”

Shiro looked at the floor, averting his gaze from Lance’s eyes again, but not quite the same way he’d been staring at his fast food bag before. “I…guess I never thought of it like that.”

“Of course not,” said Lance. “You’re probably in too much pain to think clearly. But that’s exactly why you need to talk to people about this. Friends, a therapist… Just _someone_. You can’t do this alone.”

Shiro let go of a soft breath that sounded almost like a laugh.

Lance raised his eyebrows.

“I just…” Shiro rested his arm on his knees. “After Sam died, I had almost this exact same conversation with Matt, except now I’m on the other end of it, and you didn’t have to throw me over your shoulder and drag me out of my room.” His gaze saddened again. “I guess it just took an earthquake instead.” He furrowed his brow. “But I’m dealing with Matt’s death just as bad as he dealt with his father’s. Almost exactly the same way. Blocking out my windows, not talking to anyone, not taking care of myself, not doing _anything_ but focusing on _Shattering._ And someone else had to force me to eat.”

“Which you still haven’t done,” prodded Lance, teasing, but gently.

Shiro smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m just...doing exactly what Matt did years ago, step for step. I was so upset with him for doing that to himself. Now look at me. I’m such a…” He ran his hand through his long bangs and pushed them back over his head. “...a _hypocrite_.”

“And Matt would probably be just as upset with you as you were with him,” said Lance. “But I doubt he’d hold it against you. He loved you too much.”

Shiro turned toward him again. “How do you keep saying that with so much conviction? You didn’t even know him.”

Lance tilted his head back, hesitating. “Well…” He took a breath and grimaced. “It’s...probably not the best time to bring this up, but there was this… I think it was a glitch?”

He met Shiro’s eyes warily and found Shiro frowning at him, wary and concerned.

“I think...I saw a memory.” Lance shifted the way he was sitting so he could cross his legs and his arms at the same time. “Something private. I mean, you guys are kind of working with telepathic technology, so it sort of makes sense that something could have gotten out unintentionally, I guess?”

Shiro’s brow furrowed. “What...did you see? It wasn’t…”

“No!” said Lance urgently, waving his hands. “No, no, no! Not _that_ private!”

Shiro relaxed visibly, but not all the way. “Then what _did_ you see?”

“Dancing,” said Lance quickly, dropping his hands to his ankles. “Like, one second I was dancing with this four-armed girl for a quest, the next she’s gone and I’m dancing with Matt instead except instead of my hands, I see yours. At least, I’m, like, ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure they’re yours because they were big and pale and I know _exactly_ what poster frame broke in your apartment because I was _in_ your apartment.”

Shiro’s eyes narrowed. “What poster was it?”

“Killbot Phantasm,” said Lance firmly. “The first one. The original cover art where the hero holds his sword backwards.”

“I…” Shiro shook his head. “I can’t believe it. And it was from _my_ point of view? Not like you were standing beside us or watching it on a screen, but _through my eyes?_ ”

“Exactly,” said Lance. “I know, it’s weird, but I wouldn’t have made something like that up.”

“I believe you, it’s just…” Shiro averted his eyes thoughtfully. “...weird. Like you said.”

“I just figured that’s something you’d want to get rid of,” said Lance. “Before anyone else sees it.”

“Yeah,” said Shiro absently. “...Providing there’s anything to get rid of anymore.” He looked toward the server room door.

Lance elbowed him before he could dwell on it. “Come on. You should eat.”

 

* * *

 

Keith woke to the wind. Harsh, wild wind rising up from the ground behind his back, rustling the flowers and sending his hair flying all around his face. Wind that tore apart the flowers and sent petals soaring in every direction.

He sat up, transfixed on the dancing colors against the blue sky.

Everything was back to normal. Whatever had happened to Altea was over. Keith was still there, and he still remembered everything that led up to that terrible, horrifying moment where everything fell apart.

He pushed himself to his knees and frantically searched the field. He had no idea how much time had passed. For all he knew, it could have been long enough for Lance to respawn back at the inn. Or Lance could have respawned back at the inn regardless due to Altea’s sudden shut-down.

Or, possibly, he didn’t respawn at all. Maybe his character was deleted because of whatever happened.

Maybe it was more than just Lance.

Maybe all of Altea was gone but Keith and the garden he was in.

Maybe—

Keith screwed his eyes shut.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered. “He’s fine. They’re all...fine.”

He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and turned around to look behind himself.

And there, lying in the grass, curled up in a surprisingly peaceful-looking repose, was Lance.

Keith sighed, relieved, and shuffled closer. He reached out and gently, carefully tilted Lance’s face with his fingers, searching for anything that looked out of place. Lingering static, unusual markings or scars.

Nothing. Lance’s model, at the very least, was untouched. He wasn’t even t-posing.

But that didn’t mean anything when it came to data. The worst of things could happen with no physical evidence. It was easily possible that Keith was looking at an empty shell, a statue where his friend once was. A corpse.

“Don’t worry,” said a small, raspy voice from the grass. “He’s fine. Just logged out.”

The flower stems parted, and the tiny blue mouse Keith had seen on the stump before stuck its head out from under their shadows.

“How do you know for sure?” asked Keith.

“I can still scry him,” said the mouse. “I can see his level and his class, even though he’s logged out. That kind of information wouldn’t be available if he wasn’t able to log back in.” Her round, blue ears twitched. “Mage Mentor benefits.”

“There could still be something wrong that you can’t detect,” said Keith, turning toward Lance again. “You can’t know everything.”

“It’s possible,” said the mouse. “But I don’t think so.” She scurried to Keith’s leg and climbed onto his shoulder. “Carry him to the stump at the nexus of the streams. I’ll make some tea while we wait for him to return.”

“Tea?”

“It should help,” said the mouse. “Trust an old mage.”

 

* * *

 

After half an hour of talking to Shiro, he already seemed lighter. Not exactly light as a feather, but Lance got the feeling his soul had shed a few pounds just by talking to him.

“It’s not as if I don’t have anyone to talk to,” said Shiro after a moment of palpable hesitation.

“Oh, yeah?” Lance popped one of his last remaining fries in his mouth.

“There’s...an NPC,” said Shiro. “Kind of near Olkarion. He’s…” Shiro rapped his fingers on his knee. “He’s basically the only person I’ve talked to about anything other than work in months. I know he’s just an NPC, so maybe it doesn’t count—”

“No, I totally get it,” said Lance. “There’s basically no difference between NPCs and real people from what I can tell. The biggest difference is just that you can’t take them out of the game with you and go to a movie together or whatever. That totally counts.” Lance raised an eyebrow. “You and Matt did some good work on them.”

“...I guess.” Shiro leaned back. “He disagrees, though. About counting.” A heavy sigh sank his shoulders. “He says I’m dwelling too much on...what Matt left behind.” He covered his eyes with one hand. “And I think at least part of what he says is true. It’s probably not healthy to be so...so _obsessed_. And I know I am. I know it’s a problem. But at the same time…” He dropped his hand. “I haven’t had anything else. _Shattering_ was my life for years. It was something that bound me to Matt more than marriage would have. It was my job. It was my dream. It was _Matt_. It was…” He sighed. “I guess I put all of my eggs into one basket. And something bad happened to one of the eggs and it’s been spreading to the other eggs like a poison.” He looked to the server door. “And now they’re all broken.”

Lance shrugged. “I wouldn’t say _broken_. I’d just say this is a reminder that they’re fragile. Which is, you know, what eggs are supposed to be. Otherwise, nothing would be able to hatch.”

Shiro met Lance’s eyes, and for the longest moment, he just stared. And just as Lance began to shrink under his unbreakable gaze, he spoke. “I remember the day you and Matt first met.”

Lance furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“He talked about you,” said Shiro. “He said that you seemed really interested in the project we were working on, back when we were still calling it Project Beta. And that you seemed almost jealous that we were working on a game. You mentioned wanting to be involved with something like that, even if it was just testing, even if your name wasn’t in the credits. He said you just wanted to be a part of it.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “ _I_ don’t even remember most of that conversation. And you weren’t even there. How do you know all that?”

Shiro smiled sadly. “Because I was head over heels in love with Matt and hung on his every word.” The smile turned into a smirk. “He also said you tried to flirt with him.”

“He was _pretty, okay?_ ” Lance covered half his face with one hand. “And anyway, he _clearly_ wasn’t interested, so I dropped it. Why are you even bringing that up?”

“I...might have been a little jealous.”

Lance dropped his hand and furrowed his brow. “Seriously?”

Shiro sighed. “I was too scared to say anything to him at the time. You had the courage to do what I had wanted to do for…” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Basically since I met him.”

“Yeah, well, it’s easier when stakes are low,” said Lance, averting his eyes. “When it’s someone you _really_ care about, it’s a lot scarier.”

“...He said my cousin would have liked you.”

Lance whipped his head around and stared at Shiro, bright red and utterly incredulous as to how Shiro could have possibly read his mind. “What?”

“Matt,” said Shiro. “Thought my cousin would have liked you.” He furrowed his brow. “Well...more than _thought._ He was strangely sure. Especially strange considering Keith didn’t really like anyone except for us.”

Lance cleared his throat and ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Oh, uh, yeah?”

“One of the first things Matt told me about you was that we _needed_ to arrange a way for you and Keith to meet somehow.” Shiro rested his arm on his knee. “Sometimes I wonder if that was why Matt wanted Keith to join the project so badly. But Keith had…” He clenched his hand into a fist and stared at his whitening knuckles. “...school...to worry about.”

Lance’s heart skipped. _School._

“I think Matt was right though,” continued Shiro, his fist relaxing. “Keith probably would have liked you. You’re hot-tempered, just like he was, but you’re a good listener, and you genuinely care about people.” He closed his eyes. “Keith needed someone like that. Maybe if I listened to Matt back then, Keith would still be here.”

Lance fidgeted. “Pidge, uh, told me about what happened to Keith.” Not a total lie, not the complete truth. “But they didn’t know any details about it, and… I have to ask.” He leaned in closer. “What happened?”

“I messed up,” snapped Shiro, rough, but honest and open. “I was trying to be his dad, and I couldn’t be. All I did was take away one of the few friends he had and replace it with more pressure.” His voice cracked. “His grades were slipping—of course they were with what he was going through—and I just… I wanted him to apply himself more. That’s _all_ I wanted. I never—” He hid his face in his hand. “I never wanted him to leave.”

Lance, realizing he’d been holding his breath since the sudden break in Shiro’s calm facade, exhaled, and he slid across the tiny gap between himself and Shiro to wrap an arm around his shoulders. “So he just...left?”

“He got on his bike and drove off.” Shiro was stone still, only moving as much as was necessary to speak. “I thought…maybe he just wanted some time to cool down. I _thought_ he’d come _back_. But the next morning came, and...he was still gone.”

Lance sighed heavily. _Keith, what did you do?_ “I’m guessing you called the police.”

Shiro nodded stiffly.

Lance narrowed his eyes. There was something _off_ about that response. “They did _look_ for him, right? They didn’t just, like, blow you off or anything like that, did they?”

Shiro responded with a sharp, bitter laugh. “They did more than look for him. They _found_ him.”

Lance felt his heart grind to a stop.

“They… What? But… I thought—”

The server door opened, and Shiro and Lance lifted their heads. Pidge peeked around the edge of the door.

“Uh… Are you two...okay?” They lifted an eyebrow. “Hunk and I just checked on Olkarion and Balmera. Everything _seems_ to be okay, but we want to send someone to at least check on Arus before we call it good. If you guys need a minute, though—”

“No,” said Shiro, his mask from before rebuilt where it had shattered. “Lance, check on Arus. But if you can, be fast. There’s something I need to check on as well.”

Lance swallowed. “But… We were just…”

Shiro met his eyes, and Lance’s protests died in his throat.

He knew that conversation had been painful for Shiro. The tortured look in his eyes confirmed it.

And as much as Lance needed answers—more than ever, after what he’d just learned—he couldn’t force Shiro to give them to him.

“...Okay. I’ll go.”

 

* * *

 

Keith lowered Lance into the grass and the flowers around the central stump, and the mouse that had been hitching a ride on his shoulder bounced off and landed on the stump itself.

“Do you mind grabbing some Juniberries?” asked the mouse. “They shouldn’t be hard to find. Six should do.”

Keith took his hand from the back of Lance’s head and gave the mouse a pointed look.

“...That _did_ sound a bit scripted, didn’t it?” asked the mouse.

Keith nodded sharply.

“Nonetheless, I do need them for the tea, and it would take much less time for you to find them than me.”

Keith stole one last look at Lance and sighed. “Fine.”

Finding the Juniberries wasn’t hard, just as the mouse had said. The only thing that made it difficult at all was the shaking of Keith’s hands, the itching to return to Lance’s side, as if he could protect Lance if the error from before happened again. As if he could have done anything before.

Once Keith had given the necessary Juniberries to the mouse, he wasted no time in kneeling by Lance’s side, despite knowing full well how ridiculous he was being.

“Worrying about him isn’t going to change anything,” said the mouse, her eyes on the river water she was swirling overhead, but her attention clearly on Keith. “He may not know that the problem has been fixed yet. Perhaps he himself is the reason the problem was fixed in the first place.”

“I don’t think so,” said Keith. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s smart. We wouldn’t have made it here if he wasn’t. But I don’t think he’s _that_ kind of…”

Keith trailed off, distracted by the smallest glint of gold peeking out from the collar of Lance’s robes.

Unable to stop himself or even to think about what he was doing, he reached out and gently tugged at the chain until he freed a round, golden pendant with a ring around the outer edge and a dot in the center.

Keith knitted his eyebrows and ran his thumbs over the pendant.

“Why do _you_ have _this?_ ”

“Let me see that.”

Keith turned his head toward the stump and watched the mouse toss the Juniberry petals into a pair of wooden cups before she bounced her way to Lance’s chest. She stood on his sternum and reached up with her tiny paws.

Keith handed her the pendant and nearly knocked her over doing so.

“Sorry,” he muttered, but the mouse didn’t seem to notice, too occupied with the pendant itself.

“Hmm…” She tilted it toward the light and frowned. “It is bonded to him, so he didn’t steal it. It must have been given voluntarily by the previous owner.”

“Of course he didn’t _steal it,_ ” said Keith, defensive on Lance’s behalf.

“Then what are you so worried about?” asked the mouse, carefully lowering the pendant onto Lance’s chest and nearly losing her balance in the process.

“I don’t…” Keith rested his elbow on his knee and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t understand why he wouldn’t have told me about it.”

“Everyone has their secrets,” said the mouse, bouncing her way back to the teacups. “In fact, you probably shouldn’t have gone through his belongings in the first place. Would you want him to know your secrets?”

Keith closed his eyes, and he thought about it. “...Maybe someday. But not now.”

“Then perhaps that was what he was thinking,” said the mouse, talking over a faint scraping noise. “‘Maybe someday, but not now.’ If that’s a good enough reason for you to keep a secret, then it’s a good enough reason for him to do the same.” The scraping sound stopped, and the mouse sighed. “For now, forget about that, and join me for a cup of tea. A good cuppa and good company always make for a fine distraction.”

Juniberry tea was a luxury Keith rarely afforded himself. It did little for stats, only the smallest boost in stamina and defense, but it did taste good, like cranberries and pineapples and just a dash of a spice Keith couldn’t quite identify, perhaps something unique to Altea. As for the conversation the mouse had insisted upon, there wasn’t much, and what there was didn’t provide the happiest of distractions.

“You know, the Merfolk are still in trouble to the north. Sad, what happened to them. Truly.”

“I heard the Galra got their hands on a Fallen Star. Not a good sign. Never a good sign.”

“Did you hear that Olkarion lost its king? Not that he was much of a king to begin with, but it just goes to show how low Daibazaal has fallen.”

Keith shook his head. He _hadn’t_ heard about what happened to King Lubos. “Is Olkarion okay? Do you know?”

“Oh, for sure,” said the mouse. “Ryner stepped up in his place. Honestly, she’ll be better for the kingdom than Lubos ever was. Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise.”

Keith grasped his cup between both of his hands and scowled at his own reflection in the tea’s surface. One more pin to push into his corkboard. Perhaps two. The loss of a king could be considered an environmental attack, in a way. And Keith hadn’t done a thing to stop it. He hadn’t even known.

“...You guys havin’ a tea party?”

Keith could not have discarded his cup more quickly without spilling it. He whipped his head around, setting his cup beside his leg, and found Lance pushing himself off the ground, his pendant still dangling visibly from his neck, a few blades of grass sticking into his hair.

It was funny, how Keith had been so impatient for Lance to wake up, and once Lance had, all he could do was stare.

“What?” Lance smirked. “Am I interrupting a special moment with your mousy ladyfriend?” He leaned back, but didn’t take his eyes off Keith for a second, even when the “mousy ladyfriend” in question giggled. “Fine, I’ll just log back off, give you two some alone time—”

“Don’t.” Keith grabbed Lance’s arm before he could lean back even an inch farther.

Lance just clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t _actually_ going to leave, knucklehead. You really think I would? After what just happened?” When his eyes met Keith’s again, they carried an intensity Keith didn’t think was possible from someone like Lance. All of the playfulness normally present had just _evaporated._ “You know how scared I was, right?”

“Well…” Keith slid off the stump and kneeled on the ground in front of Lance. “Probably not as scared as I was.”

“Don’t start.” Lance reached for Keith’s wrist. “It’s not a competition. Not this time.” His gaze hardened. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again. I thought you were _gone._ If it wasn’t for Pidge and Hunk, maybe you _would_ have been. It’s not like _Shiro_ could have done anything.”

Keith’s brow knitted. “What happened?”

“An earthquake.” Lance’s grip tightened around Keith’s wrist. “It totally trashed the server room—”

“What do you mean _earthquake?_ ” Keith dropped his hand from Lance’s arm. “Are you okay? Should you be playing right now? What if there’s an aftershock—”

“I’m _fine,_ Keith.” Lance released Keith’s wrist and instead reached up to trap Keith’s face between his hands. “Everyone’s fine. Even Shiro.” His gaze softened, and he swept his thumbs across Keith’s cheeks. “Fixing Altea was the first priority for all of us. We’ve all got our reasons for keeping it running.”

Keith pulled his hands down by the wrists. “If you got in a _car crash_ on your way to the server room because you didn’t wait for aftershocks, no one would have been there to fix Altea at all. We could have waited—”

“Well, I couldn’t,” said Lance. “And neither could Shiro or Pidge or Hunk. Just—”

He screwed his eyes shut and yanked his arms free of Keith’s grip, and before Keith could put together what was happening, Lance’s arms were around him.

“Don’t start,” whispered Lance again, his voice muffled by Keith’s scarf. “All right? Just don’t.”

At first, Keith froze, but after that initial shock faded, his eyes slid closed, and he luxuriated in the feeling of being embraced—truly _embraced,_ not just latched onto by a knee-high creature with horns—for the first time in over a year.

He was glad it was Lance who had broken that unintentional fast.

“I’m glad I met you,” whispered Lance. “I’m so, so, so stupid glad I met you.”

Keith sighed and reached up to finally reciprocate the hug. “...Me, too.”

Lance sighed and, with a hesitation Keith could feel, he pulled back. “I can’t stay. I’m just supposed to be confirming that Arus is in one piece. Shiro told me to be quick. I’ve probably been here too long already.”

“Okay.” Keith let his hands fall away from Lance’s robes.

“I’ll be back, though,” said Lance, some of his usual bright personality shining through. “Soon as I can. Promise.”

“Aim for under two hours,” said Keith. “I want to show you something. It’ll be easier if you don’t respawn.”

“I’ll try,” said Lance, already making gestures that suggested he’d brought up his menu. “Promise.”

“See you soon,” said Keith, before he lost the opportunity.

Lance winked. “Take a nap and maybe you’ll see me sooner.”

Before Keith could ask what Lance meant by that, his eyes closed, and his model slumped forward, forcing Keith to catch his empty model before it fell to the ground.

“You’re lucky to have an ally like that,” said the blue mouse from her stump. “Not everyone is lucky enough to be that loved.”

Keith lowered Lance carefully onto the grass, cushioning the back of his head.

“I don’t know if ‘loved’ is the right word,” he answered. “I’m happy just being liked.”

“Whatever you say, Red Warrior.”

Hands free, Keith reached under his scarf for Red’s scale and untangled it from the other necklace he’d kept under his armor for the past year. When Lance came back, he’d be ready.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Please do not eat greasy foods around delicate equipment.


	30. Random Access Memory

Shiro carefully slipped the borrowed keys into the lock and slowly, cautiously turned them until he heard a click. He turned them back, withdrew them—careful not to let them jingle too audibly—and slipped them into his pocket.

He took a deep breath, and with a purposely steady hand, he pulled the door open.

And the first thing he saw was Pidge, sitting on the couch, their face illuminated only by the television.

They arched an eyebrow.

Shiro winced. “Aren’t you, um…” He quickly lowered his voice to a mere whisper. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”

“Aren’t you?” asked Pidge, stone-faced.

Shiro closed the door behind himself. “...All right. I see how it is. I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Didn’t think so,” said Pidge, turning back toward the television. “Matt’s in his room.”

“Does _he_ know you’re awake?” asked Shiro.

“No,” said Pidge, eyes still on the screen. “And you won’t tell him if you don’t want me telling Mom you decided to sneak in to see him in the middle of the night. Which, by the way, is pretty suspicious.” They narrowed their eyes and looked away from the screen. “I’m not going to need earplugs, am I?”

“What? No, why would you—?” Shiro tugged at the hood of his hoodie, half-tempted to pull it up and over his face. “That’s not— We were— He just wanted me to see something he’s been working on.”

“In the middle of the night?” Pidge narrowed their eyes further, to mere slits.

“Yes?” Shiro swore his ears were seconds away from bursting into very real flames. “He wouldn’t… You know we’re just friends, right?”

Pidge shrugged. “Sure.” They turned their eyes back to the television. “But just so you know...if you weren’t, I’d be okay with it.”

Some of the heat in Shiro’s face died down.

“You’re good to him,” said Pidge, “and you understand him in ways even Mom and I can’t. So if you just so happened to wind up together, I’d trust you to take care of him.”

“...Oh.” Shiro’s gaze darted toward Matt’s room. “I, uh… Thanks. I think. But just so we’re clear, I’ve never actually thought about—”

“Don’t lie to me, Shiro,” said Pidge, resting an arm on their curled knees. “You’re not that good at it.”

Shiro opened his mouth to protest but shut it again quickly. If Pidge was anything like Matt, and he knew they were, then he didn’t want to get involved in an argument. Not with them. He’d lose.

So, instead, Shiro simply turned away and crept into the hallway, past Colleen’s room, and toward Matt’s bedroom.

He tapped on the door gently, and when he didn’t get a response, he gently pushed the door open, assuming Matt had dozed off.

And honestly, that wasn’t too far off the mark.

When Shiro entered Matt’s bedroom, he found Matt sitting on his bed, slumped against the wall, eyes closed, his headset on, illuminated only by the light of his desktop screen. Beneath lines of code Shiro doubted he would ever understand sat a simple word document resized to the bottom of the screen, bearing a single sentence.

_Meet me in Altea._

Shiro smiled and reached for the second headset left out beside the keyboard.

“In Altea,” muttered Shiro, the faintest amused lilt to his tone. “Like it’s a real place.”

He pulled his headset on, took a seat beside Matt on the bed, and pressed the button at the back of the headset.

His vision was overtaken by black, like he’d very quickly fallen asleep. Amid the black appeared a short message in a pleasant, faintly glowing blue.

．．．ｃｏｎｎｅｃｔｉｎｇ．．．

Shiro could have raised his eyebrows if he wasn’t in quite such an abstract state. Matt had clearly cleaned things up since the last time he’d logged in.

Another line of text fell in beneath the first.

Ｕｓｅｒｎａｍｅ： ＡｄｍｉｎＳｈｉｒｏ

Shiro’s character model formed itself where he stood. That had been cleaned up quite a bit as well, though it was difficult to see exactly how much; the only light in the space Shiro occupied came from the floating font in front of his face.

The game asked for his password, and he typed it in with a blue qwerty keypad that hovered beneath the prompt, each letter key separated by clear blue barriers.

He hit enter, and his username and password were replaced by another message, just for a moment.

．．．ｅｎｔｅｒｉｎｇ Ａｌｔｅａ．．．

And just as Shiro’s sense of place began to disappear, as his character model faded out again and the light from the font began to dim, the words changed one more time, so briefly that Shiro could barely make them out at all.

Ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ ｔｏ Ａｌｔｅａ

Blues and whites seemed to unfold around Shiro like someone taking apart an origami crane, everything falling open and sliding into place until the world stood around him in firm, steady pillars and staunch, if elegantly decorated, walls.

Shiro pushed himself off the floor and rubbed the back of his neck.

“...You’ve been busy,” muttered Shiro.

“I’m always busy,” said a bright, familiar voice behind him. “I’ve just been _productive_ lately. There’s a difference.”

Shiro was smiling before he turned around. “Hey.”

“Hey,” echoed Matt in the exact same tone. He pushed off the pillar he’d been leaning his shoulder into and sauntered toward Shiro, an unusual air of confidence about him. “So, what do you think?”

“I think…” Shiro’s eyes wandered down Matt’s character model. He was wearing an entirely different outfit from what Shiro had seen him in before. And yes, Shiro had seen that same cape, those same boots, those same bracers when he’d designed them, but it was something entirely different to actually see Matt wearing his designs. “You look great.”

Matt clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “Not _me,_ you nerd. The ballroom.”

Shiro lifted his head and looked around, taking another hard glance at the pillars, the curtains, the chandeliers, the catwalks on the second floor.

“So _that’s_ what you needed those textures for,” said Shiro, standing slowly.

“It’s just a rough design,” said Matt, his confidence rushing out of him as soon as it came. “The walls are totally flat and smooth right now. It’ll be more like paint and wood after some tweaking. Same goes for the pillars. They’re just cylinders right now, but they’ll eventually be stone, and I think the curtains would look better if I let more light through them, but not _too_ much because I want the second floor to be more private, for people who get overwhelmed by social stuff, like Keith. And I mean, this is really more your expertise, but I just wanted to try my hand at designing this one building because I wanted to surprise you, and—”

“Matt…” Shiro took his eyes off the ceiling and turned back toward his increasingly nervous friend. “Stop rambling before you pass out. It looks great. But what do you mean you were trying to surprise me?”

“I…” Matt reached back and grabbed the edges of his cape. He tugged it to his sides and flicked at the seams with his thumbnails, playing with them the same way he tended to play with seams on costume capes in the real world. It looked a bit sillier when the clothes were more functional. “I don’t know, I guess I just wanted to see your face. I’ve been planning this ballroom for a while. I wanted a place that existed mostly for fun, where a lot of people could fit that wasn’t built for a raid or anything. Something for people who just play casually and just want to make friends in a fantasy world.” He shrugged and dropped his cape. “Something that’s just stress-free and...pretty, you know?”

“Well, you definitely succeeded,” said Shiro, glancing around again, his hands on his hips like he was looking at a recently refurbished room rather than something made of code and pixels.

“It’ll look better once we’ve tweaked it,” said Matt. “I know there are some things you want to change. You seem a little, er...less than excited.”

Shiro shook his head. “Matt, if I lost my mind every time you did something incredible, my head would have exploded before we graduated _high school._ Trust me, it’s amazing. As usual.”

Matt shrugged sheepishly. “High school? Come on, what did I do pre-college?”

“The Skuldrake costume,” said Shiro, crossing his arms. “With the wings you could move with your mind.”

Matt scoffed. “You make it sound like I mastered telekinesis. I basically just made an amateur cyborg prosthetic. With cheap materials. They took me, like, six months to make and lasted about six _days_ before getting totally trashed.”

“And while they lasted, you could move them like they were a part of you.” Shiro crossed his arms. “I don’t care what you say. That was impressive. You could have done something big with that, if you wanted to.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Well… Whatever. I wound up using what I learned in that project while I was making Altea anyway. Making 3D models move the way you want and making faulty robotics move the way you want are basically the same thing. Just with data, you don’t have to worry about whether something’s too heavy or how much pressure it’s going to put on flimsy joints.” He grabbed Shiro’s hand. “Anyway, forget about failed projects from when I was seventeen. There’s one more thing right here I really want to show you.”

He began to pull Shiro toward a short set of stairs at the end of the ballroom, opposite the double doors that most likely led outside. He climbed the stairs, Shiro in tow, and gestured to his side.

“Okay, so when there are actual events, there’ll be tables here with food and drinks and stuff, and on this wall…” He pulled Shiro a little bit farther in the same direction and pressed his free hand into a red gemstone embedded into the wall.

A matching red drop menu popped up in front of Matt’s face, and he took his hand off the gemstone to scroll through the list.

Shiro recognized a few of the titles he scrolled past.

“Are those...Allura’s songs?”

“Yep,” said Matt brightly. “All of them. Plus some arrangements of songs in the public domain. Oldies she made new. Like… Here’s ‘Fly Me to the Moon’.”

Matt tapped one of the songs, and a familiar tune seemed to come from all around them, from the very walls themselves. It was slower than Shiro was used to, softer, closer to a fantasy film score than a jazz song, but still recognizable enough that Shiro could have sung along with it, if he so chose.

“Pretty,” said Shiro.

“Right?” Matt grinned and dropped his hand from the list. “I know we’ve been kind of discussing how much music to actually put in the game, whether it might take away from the realistic atmosphere if we used too much of it, but I think this is one place where I want to keep it. We could treat it like a jukebox, like anyone could add a song to the queue and wait for it to play, but we could track usernames so everyone gets a chance instead of one person hogging the list, or we could have it set up so that there’s basically a DJ by doing this.”

Matt pushed the gemstone in again, but twisted it. The stone was freed from the wall, but the second it was, it sparked black, and its red color faded, replaced with pure black texturelessness and a cloud of blue smoke. It looked like a hole in the universe.

Matt dropped Shiro’s hand and quickly transferred the gem from his other hand from that one, hissing.

“Are you okay?” asked Shiro.

“Yeah,” huffed Matt, shaking out the hand that had touched the gem. “That was weird. It’s like it shorted out. And it _hurt,_ like grabbing a boiling pot without a handle. The texture’s not coming back in the gem, either.”

“Let me see,” said Shiro, reaching for Matt’s injured hand with both of his own and raising it to eye-level.

“It’s totally fine, Shiro,” sighed Matt, despite the fact that his fingers were blackened and twitching. “It’s not like this is my real body or anything. I can feel it healing already, anyway.”

Sure enough, the pitch-black “burn” on Matt’s hand was receding.

“Maybe so,” said Shiro, lowering Matt’s hand and looking him in the eye, “but I think you need to find a way to make pain less...painful. Even if it doesn’t carry over to the real world. I don’t want this game traumatizing people.”

“I already wrote the buffer _,_ ” said Matt. “It’s, like, papercut levels at the highest. I’m just a big baby. Can I have my hand back now?”

“Hmm...” Shiro carefully, gently ran his thumb across the back of Matt’s fingers, trying not to hurt him. He must not have been careful enough, though, because Matt still flinched.

“I’ll give it back,” said Shiro, walking backward, gently tugging Matt toward the stairs. “After you try out the ballroom with me.”

Matt laughed nervously. “Come on, you remember prom. I’m a dancefloor hazard.”

“In what way?” asked Shiro, raising an eyebrow. “You were _fine_. And I’ve _seen_ your Triple Threat scores. Don’t try to pretend those aren’t impressive.”

“Well, yeah,” said Matt quickly, “but that’s all choreographed and no one’s feet are going to get stepped on and you _saw_ me bowl over Brad Geringas and his girlfriend like they were made of paper—”

“I think we remember that happening a little differently,” said Shiro, half-laughing. “Matt, you _know_ you’re a good dancer. I’ve seen you brag about it. If you don’t want to dance with me, all you have to do is tell me, but don’t pretend you don’t know how great you are.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to dance with you,” said Matt. He laughed faintly. “Believe me, I do. I just don’t want to step all over your feet or—”

“Matt.” Shiro shook his head, smiling. “You’re ninety pounds soaking wet. If you stepped on me, I don’t even think I’d feel it.”

“You'd feel it,” said Matt. "And even if you didn't, it would still be embarrassing."

“Three weeks ago, I held your hair back while you threw up,” said Shiro. “We’ve been friends since our awkward, early-teen years. I know what your breath smells like when you wake up and what your hair looks like after you’ve slept on your keyboard all night. This isn’t even the first time we’ve danced. What’s left for you to be embarrassed about?”

Matt took a breath like he was going to say something, but he just wound up holding that breath, his argument apparently eluding him. The look in his eyes shifted from frustrated to hesitant to compliant, and after a long, stuffy silence, he finally spoke.

“All right, Shiro, you win.” He turned his hand and gently reciprocated Shiro’s grasp. “But if I go weak in the knees from looking too deeply into your dark, soulful eyes, it’s up to you and your big, strong arms to catch me.”

Shiro chuckled at the obvious joke.

And he wished it wasn’t quite so obvious.

 

* * *

 

The first time Lance logged into _Shattering_ after returning home, Keith was fast asleep. He was peaceful and _safe._ And Lance was sorely tempted to kneel beside him and hold Keith’s face in his hands and gently wake him, just to assure himself that everything in Altea was fine, that Keith was all right, that there really was no permanent damage done.

But Keith had stayed up all night the quintant before, so Lance couldn’t do that. Keith needed the rest.

Instead, Lance logged out. He ate dinner, texted Pidge, rewatched a few episodes of one of his old favorite TV shows...killed time until just under two hours had passed, which was as long as he could wait without respawning at the inn.

And when Lance came back the second time, Keith was…

...still asleep.

Lance laughed softly. Admittedly, Keith could have probably used a little more sleep, but it had been a solid eight quintants since the last time he’d checked in, and if Lance waited much longer, he’d wind up falling asleep himself.

He kneeled beside Keith and gently shook his shoulder. “Hey,” he crooned. “Wake up, buddy.”

Keith knitted his brow and grunted softly.

Lance sighed. “Seriously? _You_ were the one who wanted to meet up. The least you can do is be awake for it.”

Keith opened one eye, blinked at Lance, then sat up all at once, his eyes wide, flower petals tangled in his hair.

“I—” Keith’s eyes darted across the garden, like he was trying to figure out how he got there. “...I fell asleep.”

Lance snickered. “You sure did.”

Keith glared at him and shoved his shoulder. “Shut up. And you—” He turned toward the blue mouse, who was curled up on her stump, fast asleep as well. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

The mouse squeaked, confused, and opened one eye. “Hm?”

“You let me sleep,” accused Keith.

“Mmhmm,” said the mouse, closing her eye again. “And you should learn from my example.”

Lance laughed, and Keith buried his face in his hands.

“Well, you stayed up all night,” chided Lance, reaching across to pluck a few strands of grass from Keith’s hair. “Why do you expect?”

Keith sighed and warily lowered his hands. “Okay. Stop.” He grabbed Lance’s wrist and pulled it down from his hair. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Long enough for the sun to rise,” said Lance, smirking. “I mean, I don’t know _exactly_ when you fell asleep, but it was more than two hours ago.”

“No, it wasn’t,” said Keith, fixing Lance with another sharp glare. “If it was, you wouldn’t be here.”

Lance leaned a few inches closer. “I would if I logged in before and decided to let you sleep.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed even further. “You— You wouldn’t have.”

Lance’s smirk turned into a grin. “Why, yes, I think I would.”

“Can you two take your arguing somewhere else?” asked the mouse, her eyes still closed. “It’s too early for this.”

Keith sighed and stood up, his hair still a veritable mess. “Just… Come on.”

Lance wasn’t entirely sure where Keith was leading him. A random direction, apparently. But it wasn’t until he had reached his imaginary destination—somewhere near the stone walls that surrounded them—that he spoke again.

“I can’t believe you didn’t wake me up.”

“Look, man, you were exhausted.” Lance shrugged. “You needed the rest.”

“Maybe,” snapped Keith, his voice harsh, “but that doesn’t— I’m still—” He ran his hand down his face. “I’m embarrassed, all right?”

“Embarrassed,” echoed Lance, deadpan. “You’re embarrassed.”

“Yes!” said Keith, turning on him. “I was supposed to— I was _waiting_ for you, and I just—”

“Dozed off,” finished Lance. “Yeah, like anyone who stayed up all night and then started doing nothing but waiting in Zen Central.”

“Zen Central?”

Lance rolled his eyes and gestured down the valley to the rolling mists and the endless flowers and the gentle streams.

Keith sighed sharply. “Okay, fine, but—”

“You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.” Lance crossed his arms. “I would have done the same thing. Now, are you going to show me the thing you wanted to show me, or not?”

Keith ran a hand through his hair, shaking free a couple of loose petals and, in one case, a small flower, stem and all.

“Okay,” he said. “Yeah, I… Yeah.”

He reached for his neck, toward something round and sharp and crimson that hung from his neck. Something Lance somehow hadn’t noticed before that point, and he held it up to the sky.

It somehow caught the dim morning light through the thick clouds above. Thunder rumbled ominously. Lightning flashed. And for a split second, Lance thought he saw another dark crack in the sky, but that, at least, turned out to just be his imagination.

Lance hugged himself around the middle. “Uh, Keith? You’re not, like, calling a storm or something, right?”

“Hm?” Keith lowered his eyes from the sky and looked at Lance. “Oh. No, that wasn’t me.”

A booming, rattling roar echoed from elsewhere in the sky, and Keith lowered his necklace.

“That, though…” Keith tucked his necklace back into the folds of his scarf. “ _That_ was me.”

“Wait…” Lance’s heart began to beat faster. “Red. That sound was from Red, right? You’re showing me Red?”

“Well…” Keith shrugged one shoulder. “Actually, Red’s how we’re getting to what I’m showing you. But, yeah, I guess I’m showing you Red.”

“I thought you said Red wouldn’t like me!” said Lance. Then, in the same breath, “You said she wouldn’t let me ride her! Am I about to get eaten right now? Is Red about to eat me? Is this revenge for not waking you up? Because—”

“Calm down,” said Keith. “She’s not going to eat you. I just…” He crossed his arms. “I...changed my mind.” He glared at Lance’s feet. “I guess.”

“You _changed_ your _mind?_ ” demanded Lance. “How do you know she won’t hate me?!”

“Because _I—_ ”

Keith didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Keith didn’t get to finish his sentence because Lance screamed.

Lance screamed because an _enormously long_ dragon had just landed on the ground with a loud _whump_ right in front of them, kicking up dozens of flower petals with its sudden and jarring landing.

The dragon turned one rolling, yellow eye toward Lance, and Lance clapped his hands over his mouth, cutting off his own screams.

“Oh, my god, Red’s a dragon,” said Lance, speaking very quickly through his hands, though he doubted that was what it sounded like to Keith, judging by the way he looked at Lance right afterward.

“Uh…”

“Oh,” repeated Lance, lowering his hands and speaking much slower, “my _god,_ Red is a _dragon._ ”

“Well, yeah,” said Keith, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “What did you think she was?”

“I don’t know!” squawked Lance. “Anything but a _drag—_ Eep!”

Red gave a horse-like snort, though hers was a bit louder than your average equine, strong enough to knock the flowers in front of her down, and accompanied the snort with a puff of smoke, which Lance had never seen a horse do.

“She likes you,” said Keith.

Lance peeked out from under the arms he’d covered his head with. “...You sure?”

“Yes,” said Keith, walking toward the upper part of Red’s long neck. “I’m sure.” He threw his leg over her like he was simply mounting a horse and grabbed her mane. “Hop on.”

“Hop— _Hop on?!_ ” Lance paled. “How am I supposed to— She’s—”

“Just climb onto her back behind me,” said Keith, looking over his shoulder. “It’s like riding a motorcycle.”

“Okay, a few things wrong with that.” Lance held up a finger. “One, when you ride a motorcycle, you have a helmet, which neither of us have. Two—” He held up a second one. “—motorcycles don’t usually _fly._ Three—” A third finger joined the first two. “—motorcycles aren’t _sentient._ Four—” Lance held up four fingers. “—you’re making the assumption I’ve ridden a motorcycle in the past, which I _haven’t._ And five?” Lance curled both hands into fists and threw them down at his sides. “ _She’s a quiznacking dragon!_ ”

“And she won’t hurt you,” said Keith firmly. “You’re safer with her than you could ever be on a motorcycle, even with a helmet and leathers. Why are you more afraid of Red than you were of the sand bird?”

“Because birds don’t eat people!” screeched Lance.

Keith rolled his eyes. “Even if she did eat you—and she wouldn’t, by the way—you’d just wind up back at the inn.”

Lance narrowed his eyes.

Keith sighed and leaned down, offering his hand. “Lance, how much do you trust me?”

“That’s…” Lance shifted nervously. “...honestly, kind of hard question to answer. Uh… Closer to ‘a lot’ than ‘a little’?”

“Well, if you trust me,” said Keith, “then you can trust Red.”

Lance squinted at Keith’s hand, took a deep breath through his nose, and relaxed his shoulders.

“Okay, so I’m insane.” He grabbed Keith’s hand. “Sure. What else is new?”

When Keith lifted his head, he was smiling. “Thanks, Lance.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Lance accepted Keith’s help onto Red’s back. “Just don’t let her throw me off. I’m not really in the mood for water mage pancakes today.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about.” Keith looped Lance’s arm around his waist. “There probably isn’t a safer place for you in Altea than right here.”

Thunder rolled, and Lance was thankful for it, because hopefully that was loud enough to block out the sound of his pounding heart.

 _Oh._ Lance swallowed as Keith pulled his hand back from Lance’s, leaving it over his stomach while he reached for Red’s white mane. _That’s how we’re doing this._

“You’re going to want to hold on tighter than that,” said Keith. “We’re going to take off at a pretty high speed.”

Lance took a sharp, deep breath. “Hhhhhokay,” he squeaked, wrapping his other arm around Keith’s waist. “This is _so_ terrifying on _so_ many levels.”

“You’ll be fine,” said Keith. “As long as you, you know, hold on tighter than that.”

Ignoring his internal screaming, Lance sidled closer and held on a great deal tighter, pressing his cheek hard into the back of Keith’s metal armor.

“You okay back there?” asked Keith.

“I’m fine,” lied Lance. “Just peachy.”

“Okay,” said Keith, looking over his shoulder. “Do you want me to do a countdown?”

“Yes,” blurted Lance. “Wait. No. That’ll just make me freak out more.”

“Okay,” said Keith, facing forward again. “Then let’s go.”

Lance closed his eyes, and he tried to take a breath, but before he could even open his mouth, Red shot off like a bullet, and Lance was suddenly very happy that he _hadn’t_ taken that breath, because he _knew_ he would have screamed.

It was nothing like riding on the back of the bird, which had been terrifying in its own right upon takeoff. It was like riding a bolt of lightning. All Lance could hear at first was the rush of his flapping robes and the wind that tore past his ears. The wind was as cold as it was loud, but only for a moment. Then, both the chill and the sound started to fade, although, when Lance opened his eyes and saw the green hills rushing blindingly fast below them, he knew they were still going just as fast.

“...Holy…” Lance warily raised his head from Keith’s back, trying to get a better look.

“Pretty cool, right?” Keith looked over his shoulder and flashed Lance a grin.

Before Lance could find the breath in his chest to answer, Keith looked up and squinted at the clouds.

“It’s starting to rain,” he noted, though Lance couldn’t tell. He certainly couldn’t feel it. “We won’t feel it, but Red still doesn’t get along with water.” He hunkered down, closer to Red’s mane, pulling Lance down with him. “Hold on.”

Lance didn’t have to be told twice. He clung to Keith’s waist and buried his face in his armor.

He felt more than saw Red pull back and shoot directly up into the sky, spiraling into the clouds like a roller coaster in reverse. For a second, all Lance could see past Keith’s shoulders was a rush of gray.

Then they broke through the clouds.

Several meters above the clouds’ surface, Red stopped spinning and began to dive back down.  She started her descent and Lance saw over the top of Keith’s head.

And he swore time had slowed, almost stopped. He could have heard every flap of a hummingbird’s wing.

With the clouds beneath him, the sunrise was indescribable. It was like the twinkle of a distant diamond. Golden rays poured over the tops of lavender nimbocumulus like water over the calmest waterfall. And Lance knew, he _knew,_ that he’d never see anything even close to as beautiful as that sunrise. Not even the view from the back of the sand bird came close.

Red began to level out again, and Lance set his chin on Keith’s shoulder to hold onto that precious view as long as possible.

“...Wow,” breathed Lance once the world returned to its normal speed.

“You’ll never see anything like this outside of Altea,” said Keith, barely above a whisper. “You’ll get close if you become a pilot, but even then, there’s a screen in the way. It’s one of the few things that don’t make me miss Earth. _Nothing_ could compare to this.”

Lance looked at Keith through the corner of his eye, and though Lance still agreed that nothing could be as beautiful as that sunrise over the storm clouds, he disagreed that nothing could _compare._

Because Keith’s rare, carefree smile in the light of that sunrise came _damn close_.

Lance was struck by the abrupt desire to kiss his cheek, or to press his forehead to Keith’s temple, to do something, _anything,_ to get closer than they already were, but before that desire even had the chance to make Lance blush, Keith turned toward him and asked a question.

“Do you want to see a cool trick?”

“Uh,” was all Lance could say in return, having been startled from his daze.

Keith pried Lance’s wrists from his waist and brought them down to Red’s mane. “Hold onto her.”

“ _Uh,_ ” was, again, all Lance could say, though slightly more urgent than before.

Keith, not giving Lance the opportunity to complain or question what he was doing, stepped over Lance’s leg and walked down Red’s back, to halfway, just before the point where her tail began to thrash wildly, either buffeted by or propelling through the rush of wind. There, Keith turned perpendicular to Red’s spine, threw his arms out, and let himself fall backward, toward the clouds below.

“Keith!”

Lance barely had the chance to scream before Red twisted and sent them hurtling toward the surface of the clouds. She neared Keith’s path downward, nearly matching his speed, close enough that Lance could see Keith’s face.

And he was calm. Calm like Lance had never seen him.

Red ducked under Keith in a flash and caught him with her back. He rolled down the slope of her spine, toward Lance, and the closer he got, the clearer it became that he was _laughing._

He collided with the small of Lance’s back, and Lance reached down to grab him by the upper arms.

“Are you _nuts?_ ”

Keith flashed Lance a grin that stopped his heart. “I would have been more nuts to think that Red wouldn’t catch me.”

Lance groaned and yanked Keith up. “You’re the worst. The actual freaking worst. You gave me a heart attack, you know that?”

Keith only grinned wider. “That was the point.”

“I _hate_ you,” growled Lance.

“No, you don’t,” said Keith, standing to step over Lance’s leg and resume his place at the pilot’s seat.

“No,” said Lance, grudgingly wrapping his arms around Keith’s waist again and hiding his face behind Keith’s shoulder. “I don’t. But you’re still a jerk.”

“I know,” said Keith, still abnormally bright and cheerful.

Lance sighed emphatically and rested his chin on Keith’s shoulder again. _Sure. Go ahead and pull a stunt like that after what we just went through. It’s not like you’ve scared me enough today._

Behind Lance’s sigh, though, was an acknowledgment. Red clearly made Keith happy. Happier than Lance usually saw him. He just seemed _lighter_ when they were with her.

So maybe, if she could bring out such a cheerful side of someone like Keith...maybe she wasn’t so bad.

 

* * *

 

Keith stepped onto the grass and reached up to offer a guiding hand for Lance. “Look at that. You survived.”

Lance rolled his eyes, but he took Keith’s hand all the same. “Still one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever done, but the view was nice.” He landed on the grass next to Keith and pulled his hand back. “And hey, Red didn’t throw me off, even when you jumped off the side like a crazy person, so that’s a bonus.”

Keith chuckled. “I told you she wouldn’t.”

Lance crossed his arms. “I still don’t get how you’re so sure.”

“Well...” Keith started up the mountain where Red had taken them. “We’re connected. She wouldn’t have hurt you any easier than I would have. She likes you because I like you.”

“Oh, really?” Lance side-eyed Keith and raised a hand to his chin.

“What?” Keith’s smile shrank.

Lance’s only grew. “You _like_ me.” He bumped Keith’s hip with his own.

Keith rolled his eyes, and his smile was quick to return. “Good job, Lance. You’ve made a _really_ impressive discovery. No one could have figured _that_ out.”

“It’s the first time you’ve ever actually said it, though,” said Lance brightly. “You actually _admitted it._ You _like_ me.”

“You’re the first friend I’ve had in a year,” said Keith, shoving Lance’s shoulder and walking ahead. “Yeah. I like you. It’s not that shocking.”

“And now you’re calling me your friend.” Lance caught up quickly, his hand held dramatically over his heart. “Just look at all the progress we’re making.”

“I’ve called you my friend before,” said Keith, because he _must_ have at _some_ point.

“Nope,” said Lance, looping an arm around Keith’s shoulders. “I would have noticed. This is brand new territory. We’re officially friends now. No take-backs. No trying to act like you never said it in the future. No pretending you forgot. We’re friends.”

Keith laughed stiffly and looked at Lance through the corner of his eye. “Why would I do that?”

“You know,” said Lance, “in case I ever annoy you or embarrass you…”

“What, like you do all the time?” teased Keith.

“I’m talking about, like, _actually_ annoying or embarrassing you,” said Lance.

Keith looked him dead in the eye and put on his most serious face. “...Like you do all the—”

“Man, shut up.” Lance pulled his arm back from Keith’s shoulders and shoved his face away.

Keith’s stone-faced facade broke as quickly as it was built and he burst into laughter. He pulled Lance’s hand down by the wrist and tried to shove him away, only for Lance fight back, laughing just as hard.

“Your stupid hair is all messed up from the ride here!”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Psh. My hair is always perfect. Suck it.”

“Suck— Your _hair?_ ”

Lance laughed harder and gave up fighting against the grip on his wrists. He was flushed and happy and something about that made Keith’s stomach twist.

And then Keith remembered where he’d brought Lance and why, and that twist turned into a knot.

Lance, apparently sensing the shift in Keith’s mood, stopped laughing almost at once, though his smile, at the very least, _didn’t_ fade. He slowly straightened his back, and he looked Keith in the eye.

“...So, you’ve been here for a year, yeah?”

Keith sighed and dropped Lance’s wrists. “I don’t know exactly how long it’s been, but… Four Altean summers. So it’s probably, what, December back on Earth?”

“Late November,” corrected Lance, his voice not unkind. “Close enough.”

“Then...yeah,” said Keith. “It’s been over a year.”

Lance exhaled like all the air had been squeezed out of his lungs. “How did you—?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Keith sharply, hoping Lance would take the hint.

“Sorry!” Lance lifted his hands in a peaceable gesture. “I’m sorry, I just… I’m trying to figure out what I can do to help.”

“There isn’t anything,” said Keith. “Trust me.”

“Okay, but have you _tried—_ ”

“There’s no point in _trying anything_ ,” snapped Keith. “I’m here. There’s no way out. I made peace with that before I even agreed to make a character, and it would have been _fine_ if it wasn’t for Matt and Shiro and _Zarkon—_ ”

“Whoa,” said Lance. “Back up. That makes it sound like you got stuck here on _purpose._ ”

“That’s because I _did, Lance!_ ”

Lance recoiled. His eyes widened, and his lips parted, but he said nothing. He didn’t have to say anything. The look in his eyes, the fear and concern swimming in an ocean of hurt, said enough.

Keith couldn’t look at him like that. It was like staring into the sun.

“Come on,” said Keith, continuing his walk up the mountainside, far ahead of Lance so he didn’t have to look at him. “We need to get to the summit before you have to log off.”

If it wasn’t for the rustling of the grass behind Keith’s back, he wouldn’t have known Lance was still following him.

It wasn’t much further up the mountain before Keith reached the petrified wood steps, and the rustling behind him turned to the stomping of shoes up the stairs.

A loud, emphatic sigh joined in with the stomping. “Keith, I don’t want to do this.”

“You don’t even know what we’re doing,” said Keith, keeping his eyes on the steps.

“Not that,” said Lance. “ _This_. What we’re doing right now.”

“And what are we doing right now?” asked Keith.

“You know,” said Lance. “I— Fighting. The fighting. I don’t _want this._ ”

“Should have thought of that before you started prying,” said Keith.

“Look, I’m _sorry_ , all right?” The footsteps behind Keith hastened and Lance dashed in front of him, cutting him off and stopping him in his tracks. Keith avoided his face. “I’m sorry that I asked too many questions, and I’m sorry I kept going when it was clearly ticking you off. I should have backed down, but I was— Keith, don’t do this. Not right now.”

“What makes right now different from any other time?” asked Keith, ducking his head and searching for a way to break past Lance without having to look at him. “Why do you care if it’s now?”

“Because I almost lost you!”

The sudden sharpness of Lance’s voice made Keith lift his head.

Lance was trembling.

Keith hadn’t noticed until just then, but once he had, it was impossible to miss.

“You…” Keith furrowed his brow. “You’re still thinking about that?”

“Maybe _you_ had the chance to sleep it off and forget about it,” said Lance, lowering his voice, “but I didn’t. That happened six hours ago, Keith. _Six hours._ The sky went dark and I woke up at home in the middle of an earthquake scared out of my mind that I’d never see you again _six hours ago_. Of _course_ I’m still thinking about it! How am I supposed to think about anything else?”

Keith wasn’t sure what to say. He felt like he was going to fall apart, like Lance’s gaze was fierce and furious and _scared_ enough to tear him limb from limb.

“I know you’re mad,” said Lance, taking a half-step back, giving Keith space. “And you have the _right_ to be mad, and I’m sorry I pushed you to talk about something you didn’t want to talk about. But don’t…” He lowered his head and crossed his arms like he was trying to shrink behind them. “Don’t go quiet on me. Not right now. Not when there’s still a part of me that can’t stop looking up at the sky like there’s going to be another piece missing.” His eyes slowly, uncertainly lifted to meet Keith’s, like he was afraid of what he would see there. “The last thing I want is for you to disappear for good and for my last memory of you to be staring at your back and wondering what I could have done differently.”

Keith sighed. That was all he felt he _could_ do.

“Lance,” he began, exasperated, “that’s not going to happen. You and your friends fixed the problem, right?”

“I know,” said Lance, hunching his shoulders more, shrinking further into himself and nonverbally telling Keith that that was the wrong thing to say. “But it doesn’t have to be _that_ again. It could be anything. And maybe next time it’ll be something we _can’t_ fix.”

Keith ran a hand down his face. He had never been good when things got emotional. It all felt so out of his control.

“Listen…” Keith closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was hard enough to talk about complicated feelings. Looking Lance in the eye while he did it would have been impossible. “I don’t hate you. I don’t even think I’m mad _at you_. I think I’m just...mad. Frustrated. About Altea and Matt and Shiro and everything else. Not even just now, but all the time. And talking about it just makes me even angrier than I already am, and you brought it up, so all that anger just sort of…” He sighed again, frustrated when the right words didn’t come to him right away. “I was already stressed out. That’s the point I’m trying to get across. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have brought you here.”

“Okay…” said Lance slowly, still audibly concerned, though more...curious. “I can’t say I’m making the connection. You brought me here because you were stressed? What’s at the top of this hill, a gym?”

Keith lowered his hand and looked Lance in the eye. “Matt left you that necklace, didn’t he?”

Lance’s eyes widened, and he slapped at his chest, where the simple, round, golden pendant Keith had spotted after Altea was restored still sat.

“Why?” asked Keith. “How well did you know him?”

“I met him _once_ ,” said Lance, wrapping his hand around the pendant. “I _swear._ I would have told you if we were friends or something. Why would I keep that from you?”

“Then why did you keep _that_ —” Keith nodded at the pendant. “—from me?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant,” said Lance, raising his voice. “I don’t even know what this _is._ I just thought it was something he left as a bonus for the QA testers or something.”

“No,” said Keith firmly. “There are _four_ of those in the whole game. Just four, and they all look a little different, and _that_ one was _Matt’s._ ” Keith clenched his hands into fists. “If he left it to _anyone,_ it should have been Pidge. Why do _you_ have it?”

“I don’t know!” said Lance, almost yelling. “I just woke up one day and there it was. What do you want me to say, Keith?”

“The truth!”

“That _is_ the truth! Why would I lie about that?!”

“That’s what I’m here to figure out!”

“What?!”

Keith growled and reached behind his neck, his fingertips scrabbling for the silver chain he knew was there.

“Come on,” he ordered, turning away and walking up the rest of the stairs, still struggling with the chain.

Lance followed behind him, muttering something Keith could barely hear. “...didn’t want to fight, and what do we do? We _immediately_...so stupid...hate this…”

The stairs led them upward until they reached the summit, where a statue sat, legs crossed, hands raised, eyes open. At the center of either of his palms sat a circular indentation.

“Who’s _this_ guy?” asked Lance, audibly irritated.

“Blaytz the Romantic,” said Keith, finally managing to unclasp the chain around his neck. He yanked the pendant free from his chest plate and its silver caught the sunlight. The crescent moon shape glinted innocently, the astronomical moon counterpart to Matt’s...Lance’s...sun symbol. “There’s one of these in every kingdom. Even Daibazaal. If two people with different path stones—Terrestrial Keys—find one and its eyes are open, it tells them about an event in the game that they can trigger. A quest they haven’t done or a spell they haven’t gotten. But these aren’t Terrestrial Keys.” Keith slipped his pendant, his Celestial Key, into Blaytz’ left hand. It fit into the round indentation perfectly. “If any combination of Shiro, Allura, me, or Matt—or you, now, apparently—use these on one of the Observers, then the Observers will show us whatever we need to see, as long as they’ve seen it. They’re supposed to be like smart security cameras.”

“And since you don’t believe me, you want to check the footage, right?” Lance sent Keith a disappointed glare. “I can’t believe you made such a _big deal_ about me trusting you before we took off on Red and now you’re making me do _this._ But you know what? Fine. You want irrefutable proof? I’ve got nothing to hide.”

He undid the clasp, pulled Matt’s necklace over his head, and unceremoniously shoved it into Blaytz’ empty right hand.

And the instant its gold met Blaytz’ stone, Keith’s vision went white.

The white began to fade as quickly as it appeared, and when it did, Keith was surrounded by shades of blue. Everything around him was monochromatic, save for his own character model.

He was in Coran’s inn, and so was Lance. Or, at least, a monochromatic Lance. Like a three-dimensional video of what had happened in the past. The real Lance, or the present one, Keith supposed, wasn’t there at all. Perhaps he had a question of his own that needed answering. Or perhaps he was just waiting for Keith to be finished back on the mountain.

As for the Lance in the past, he had just noticed a package by his feet.

He abandoned the blanket he’d been folding over the back of a chair and he bent down to reach for the parcel, but he stopped, his fingers hovering just over its label, which he had apparently just noticed.

“What the hell?” he whispered, barely audible. He started to reach for the package again, and recoiled another inch, as if afraid of even touching it.

Keith’s vision faded to white once more, and when it faded back to blue, Coran was there, but Keith still stood in the same room, in the very same place.

“Do you mind telling me what this is?” asked the Lance of the past, leaning over the inn’s counter, his hand outstretched, Matt’s Key dangling from its chain in his hand.

Coran began to give a baffled answer, but Keith didn’t bother listening to it.

_Lance...tried to ask Coran what it was?_

The world flashed white again.

“Maybe it’s just aesthetic,” said the Lance of the past, again talking to Coran. “I mean, it’s kind of simple, but it’s pretty.”

“It might be,” said Coran, who, of course, wouldn’t know what it was. He wouldn’t have needed to know. No ordinary player should have come in contact with any of the Keys. There was no need for a tutorial. “It could have a hidden effect that only crops up in certain circumstances. Perhaps not a debuff, but an exchange. Like perhaps heightened stamina in exchange for lowered defense when you have less than a fourth of your health remaining. Handy, when used correctly, but very bad if used in the wrong situation—”

“Don’t worry about it, Coran,” said Lance, cheerful, genuinely unaware of what he was holding. “Besides, I’m supposed to be spending my time trying new things.”

Another flash, and Slav joined Lance and Coran. He was turning the Key over between two of his many hands despite the fact that Lance was still wearing it, forcing him to double over.

Lance had even gone to _Slav_ trying to figure out what it was. _No one_ went to Slav voluntarily. _Shiro_ didn’t even like him, and Shiro liked almost everybody.

_Lance had no idea. If Matt gave it to him for a purpose, he had to have told Lance what it did...right?_

Another flash, and Keith stood at the bottom of a lake. Of...Lovers’ Lake, judging by the great, snake-like Baku casting its shadow over him. Even just in a memory, Keith wanted to shudder.

Movement tore Keith’s eye from the creature and down to the lakebed just a few feet away.

And he saw Lance, wide-eyed, pale, freezing, clearly in a state of panic, but…

...but he also saw himself. His own body, clutched to Lance’s chest. Like Lance was trying to protect him from something _hundreds_ of times their size, even in freezing cold water.

And Matt’s Celestial Key, by some twist of fate, managed to free itself from Lance’s robes in his efforts to swim away.

And Keith understood how Lance had been able to get away from the Baku. Nothing with below-human intelligence would have attacked an administrator, and that pendant was as good as an ID badge.

But Lance hadn’t known that. He clearly hadn’t.

And yet, he had still tried to protect Keith despite that.

Keith’s heart wrung itself out behind his ribcage.

Amidst all the blue, the briefest flash of color caught Keith’s eye, and he saw Lance. Colorful, present, Lance, staring at the Baku with wide eyes. Whatever question he’d needed answered was apparently just as relevant to that moment at the bottom of the lake as Keith’s question was.

White consumed Keith’s vision yet again, spreading slowly, and when it faded out, the blue was gone, and he was back at the mountaintop.

Lance stood beside him, his hand still pressed against Blaytz’, his eyes glowing yellow as he continued his trek through whatever he needed to see.

Keith’s shoulders sank.

“You really were telling the truth,” he whispered, somewhere between stunned and guilty. If Lance had known Matt, if Matt had given Lance the Celestial Key for a reason and it was a reason Lance had been in on, then Lance would have known what it was, what it did.

Keith should have trusted Lance. He should have. Lance had never given him any reason to do anything less. It just...hadn’t made sense.

But that was on Matt. Not on Lance.

“Why him?” whispered Keith, half to Matt, half to himself. “Why not Pidge? What were you planning?”

The gleam from Lance’s eyes faded, and he returned to the present.

“Lance,” said Keith quickly. “I shouldn’t have— I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.”

“We can talk about that later!” said Lance, snatching his necklace back from Blaytz’ hand and hurriedly clasping it around his neck. “And trust me, we’re _definitely_ talking about it later, but right now, there’s something bigger going on. Something _way_ bigger than _us_.”

He turned toward Keith, his eyes wild with a mixture of nervousness, excitement, and determination.

“I know how to save Swirn’s people.”

 


	31. Victory Condition

She was beautiful. More than beautiful. To call her stunning wouldn’t have even done her justice.

It was hard to tell when everything was blue, but her eyes seemed to be blue naturally. Her hair, if not just very pale, was white, very long, and very thick. Thick enough that Lance wanted to run his fingers through it and memorize every kink and curl. Though there was something about her that suggested to him that he was far from the first one to have those thoughts.

There was something familiar about her. Lance got a feeling, looking at her, that was similar to how he felt looking at Keith. Similar, but not the same. He didn’t look deep into her eyes and feel frozen and yet warmer than he’d ever been at the same time. It wasn’t that deep nostalgia. There was no yearning for the end of a story that never had the chance to finish.

Looking at her, Lance got the feeling he was looking at an old classmate he’d forgotten about, or someone he’d flirted with once only to be flatly rejected on the spot.

Somewhere under the layers of furs and the golden circlet and the pointed ears and the Altean markings was someone Lance _swore_ he’d seen before. Recently, even.

Of course, that was impossible. She was just a video game character. And Lance would have noticed if he’d met a True Altean other than Coran.

She took a steady step back, her boot sliding through the snow and leaving a shallow trench in its wake.

“This is your only warning,” she said firmly, gripping her staff and raising it behind her, arming herself for combat. “Turn around and walk back down the mountain. If you retreat right now, I won’t have to kill you.”

The leader of the Galra she spoke to, someone Lance didn’t have to strain to remember after he’d nearly gotten rid of Keith, grinned in her face. “Isn’t a Shaman’s job to heal the Undead? And here you are, threatening to create more.”

“Less than you would create by attacking a village of innocent merpeople,” said the Shaman, bringing her center of gravity closer to the ground. “Don’t think I wouldn’t choose the lesser of two evils.”

She charged forward and the tip of her staff met the center of Haxus’ chest.

He grabbed the staff and whispered something, something Lance couldn’t hear. Ice began to spread toward the Shaman’s hands, and she quickly yanked her staff away.

She spun back defensively, and one of her earrings, the glassy one, began to glow. What looked like a swarm of large, paper dragonflies with long, ribbony tails appeared out of thin air behind her and rushed toward the team of Galra she fought against.

Before the Galra could fight off the swarm, the Shaman rushed in and tossed Haxus into the air with a swift swipe of her staff.

Lance held his breath. He swore, watching her, that the Shaman would win.

But he knew that he’d seen Haxus on that mountain she’d been trying so hard to protect. And she was nowhere to be found.

So it shouldn’t have surprised him, shouldn’t have hurt, when he saw the woman who fought so hard wind up face-down in the snow, two of those hollow suits of armor pinning her down by her back and shoulders.

But it did.

“Let’s see,” said Haxus, kneeling beside the Shaman’s head and reaching for her ear. “It’s this one, isn’t it?”

He plucked something from the woman’s ear and dangled it in front of her face.

It was her other earring. The one she hadn’t used before. The opaque, white one. Now that she wasn’t moving around so much, Lance could tell that it looked a great deal like a tooth.

But Lance only had a split second to identify even that much.

Haxus drew a knife from his belt, tossed the tooth into the air, and pierced it with the tip of his blade.

Lightning sparked, and Lance saw a flash of bright, brilliant blue. So blue that it couldn’t have just been the way everything looked in Blaytz’s mind.

And when the blue light cleared, nothing remained of the tooth but black ash that fell to the snow like tiny autumn leaves.

“Why?” screeched the Shaman, fighting against the weight on her shoulders. “What was the purpose of that? To taunt me?”

“Without a master, your little friend will be much more receptive to…” Haxus turned the knife in his hand. “...persuasion.” He grinned malevolently, and his sharp teeth caught the light. “And as long as she can be persuaded, so can the merpeople.”

“You think she’ll listen to _you?_ ” hissed the Shaman through her teeth. “I don’t think so. She wouldn’t find any of your filthy _empire_ worthy of her service. And at any rate—” She fought against one of the suits of armor pinning her down, only to be shoved back into the snow. “...At any rate, you didn’t sever my connection with her, just my ability to summon her. She is still my mount. We’re still bonded.”

“Oh?” Haxus’ grin widened. He didn’t seem natural. “Well, then, I suppose I should cut the connection.” He turned his knife over in his hand. “Hold her up,” he ordered, and the empty armor followed his command.

The woman struggled. She kicked at Haxus, only to be blocked by his free hand while the other sparked and flashed.

Lance’s eyes widened. His heart skipped. He rushed in without thinking. He jumped in between Haxus and the Shaman, as if he could change the past, as if he could stop what he knew was coming.

But to no avail.

Haxus cut through Lance’s chest as if he were a ghost, and his knife hit its mark.

Lance had never really understood how something could be “blood-curdling” until that moment, when the echoes of the Shaman’s scream latched onto him like venom and seemed to sour every milliliter of Lance’s insides like milk left in the sun. Everything felt wrong. Lance felt like he was going to be sick.

“Go back to the foot of the mountain and burn her home down,” said Haxus, his voice muffled in Lance’s ringing ears. “Let them wonder what happened to her.”

And then the world turned white, and Lance saw the village.

He’d never seen so much fear in one place.

Merpeople pushing past each other in the icy streets, shoving each other out of the way in their desperate attempts to enter crowded ice holes. Entering those ice holes only to become unnervingly complacent once their tails began to form. Garbled shouting, crying, merpeople fighting their own friends and family, insisting that everything would be _safe_ and _warm_ if they just gave in...and a silent amusement that seemed louder than any sound, that rippled off the Galra in waves as they chased down their screaming prey.

Lance wanted to scream himself.

Why had Blaytz shown him that chaos?

What answer was Blaytz trying to give him?

He hadn’t even had a question!

Or, at least, he thought he hadn’t.

And then he saw himself.

And he saw the Baku.

And Lance made a connection he would never have made without Blaytz showing him what he needed to see.

The Baku, the Shaman, Lance himself at the bottom of that lake… They were all the same.

Scared.

And as Lance dropped his gaze to the lakebed, to a Keith who was more red than blue, who stood several meters away, his eyes glued to their past selves, he saw that same fear.

He understood.

And Lance owed Keith a long, heavy talk. About the necklace. About Keith’s clear trust issues. About everything. But not yet.

Lance turned his gaze upward, toward the Baku.

Something else demanded his attention first.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t the first time Lance ran up the mountainside, knowing there was someone he could save at the top.

He’d already waited long enough. At Keith’s urging, he’d gotten a night of sleep, though he couldn’t have called it a _good_ night’s sleep. Not with all those screams playing on a treacherous loop in his head, not when he knew he could make a difference if he just acted then and there.

But Keith had been right that he needed to get at least _some_ rest after the day they’d had. And they did need supplies, which Keith had offered to gather while Lance slept.

“Lance! Stop running!”

Keith grabbed Lance’s wrist, and Lance whipped around, tense and impatient.

“Why?” he snapped.

“You’re wasting stamina,” said Keith, just as impatient. “You’re not going to do anyone any good if you run all the way there and collapse at the top.”

“Every second we waste getting there is another second Swirn’s people suffer,” said Lance. “What am I supposed to do? Go at a leisurely pace?”

“You’re supposed to take care of yourself,” said Keith. “Pace yourself. Not do something stupid—”

“Oh, what, so I’m stupid now?” snapped Lance, yanking his arm free and turning away, resuming his walk up the mountain as if it had never been interrupted. “First you don’t trust me, and now I’m stupid. Thanks, Keith. I feel _really appreciated—_ ”

Keith grabbed a fistful of the fabric at Lance’s shoulder and jerked him back, turning him, forcing their eyes to meet.

And Keith’s eyes narrowed into something between furious and hurt.

“I _do_ trust you,” he said firmly.

“Well,” sniffed Lance, “you’re not acting like it.”

A muscle under Keith’s eye twitched. “I know I— Look, will you just— I wouldn’t have asked you to help me if I didn’t trust you! It’s not—”

Lance groaned and rolled his eyes. “Sure, Keith. You’re just scared. And people do a lot of stuff they normally wouldn’t when they’re scared. Like shoving people into danger to save their own hides. But you know, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when you do it.”

“If you knew what Shiro and Matt put me through—”

“It wouldn’t change how I’ve treated you,” snapped Lance. “And I’ve never given you any reason not to trust me. Not one—”

“And I do trust you!” said Keith. “That’s not what’s going on here!”

“Then what _is_ going on here?” demanded Lance. “I’m listening. Got two big ol’ ears right here—”

“I don’t trust myself!”

Lance furrowed his brow. “What do you mean you—”

“I don’t…” Keith dropped his hand from Lance’s shoulder. “I’m not smart. I rush into things and I say things and do things without thinking. So...just because I trust you doesn’t mean I’m right about you. I…” He crossed his arms and turned away, glaring at the snow. “I was wrong about Matt and Shiro. I could be wrong about you, too. I just…” He knitted his brow so tight it twitched. “I was trying to be careful.” He closed his eyes. “But...I’m sorry...that I hurt you.”

Lance allowed himself to stare for a moment as his mind caught up with what Keith said.

Then, with a heavy sigh, he buried his face in his hands and rubbed his cheeks. “ _Keith_ ,” he whined, muffled by his own hands. “This…” He lifted his head. “This really isn’t the best time to get into this. You know that, right? You _have_ to know that.”

Keith opened his eyes and looked at Lance, sidelong. “If this is how you act when you’re mad at me, then I _had_ to talk about it. Before we got to the top and you messed something up because you were too busy being ticked off at me to think straight.”

Lance ran a hand down his face. “Oh, boy…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay.” He gestured sharply, chopping his hand through the air. “You’re right. Talking about it probably is going to help in the long run. Even if now isn’t the best time. I accept your apology.” He caught Keith’s eye, hesitated, then added, “And I’m sorry, too. About being so...resistant, I guess. Now can we _please_ go save an entire village from tyrannical occupation?”

Keith sighed, and all the tension rolled out of his shoulders. The smallest of smiles tugged at his lips. “Sounds good to me.”

 

* * *

 

Keith pinned his back to the wall of ice surrounding the Merfolk Village and tilted his head back to look at the top of the wall, half-expecting guards to be perched at the top.

“So,” he whispered as Lance pressed himself to the wall beside him. “What _exactly_ are we trying to do here?”

“Well,” said Lance, “I need to get to the lake, but I have to get through the whole brainwashed village to get there. Probably at least a few Galra, too.” He held out his hands, palm up, and sent a few snowflakes into the air. “I _think_ I’ve got something that can help me with that now, thanks to Ms. Chulatt, gotta love her, but I think what would _really_ help is a _diversion._ ”

“How big of a diversion?” asked Keith.

“Like you’re trying not to get caught,” said Lance. “But, like, make sure you actually do get caught, otherwise, you know, what’s the point? But make it convincing. Make them _curious._ ”

“All right,” said Keith, warily pushing away from the wall. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Of course,” said Lance brightly. “Got my trusty bow, all the potions I need, a magic lily courtesy of the old man, and a few spells I can actually use for once. I’m practically unstoppable.”

“No,” said Keith. “No, I mean...with the lake.”

“...Oh.” Lance ran a hand through his hair, pushing his short bangs back. “I mean… I’m not actually going _in_ the water unless I absolutely _have_ to, but…” He dropped his hand. “I mean, I’ve jumped in it before and lived. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Keith, who had seen what Lance had looked like when he’d “jumped in it before” knew _exactly_ what the worst that could happen was.

“ _No,_ ” whined Lance. “No no no no. No, we’re not doing that. Cut that out.”

“What—”

“The eyes!” hissed Lance. “The saddest eyes I’ve ever seen! What, are you part puppy or something?” He grabbed Keith’s face and pulled at his cheeks so hard it hurt. “I’ll be _fine_. Trust me here.”

Keith reached up and pried Lance’s hands free of his face. He had no doubt that his alleged _puppy eyes_ were still present, and he wondered whether it would be too much to ask for another hug.

But Lance wanted trust. And if trust meant believing that he’d be okay on his own, then Keith could do that.

“If I see you start to drop HP on the group menu, I’m coming after you.”

Lance smiled, and his eyes lit up like fireworks. “Hey, I told you to trust me, not abandon me.”

He turned away from Keith, took a few steps toward the gate, and stopped.

With a deep breath, one that swelled Lance’s shoulders, he put his hands together, and a fierce blizzard whirled to life around him. In the blink of an eye, he was completely obscured.

“Good luck,” said Keith to the eye of the snowstorm.

“Let’s kick—” began Lance, audible, but not visible, only to trail off, apparently unsatisfied with what he was about to say. “...You know what? Yeah. You, too, Keith.”

Keith could only assume that he left after that, completely hidden from view.

 

* * *

 

Lance started off at a walk, then began to run when he realized that the snow he created covered his shallow footprints and that the roaring of the wind drowned out the rustling of his cloak.

It did not, however, drown out the sound of an explosion from somewhere nearby.

“I hope that was Keith,” said Lance under his breath. “Well, no, I don’t. Because that was _not_ subtle. Come on, buddy, you can do better than that.”

His eyes darted to the counter at the corner of his vision, counting down a mere three minutes for the duration of the Blizzard spell that had sapped nearly his entire mana bar. If Lance needed to, he knew he could just eat one of the flower petals from the water lily Coran had given him, but it tasted like...Globinheffer snot, to quote the Arusian potion seller, and honestly, Lance almost preferred death. Or he would have, if an entire village wasn’t at stake.

“I am risking a _lot_ on something that might not work,” he grumbled.

But it was a plan, which was so much more than Lance had had the last time he found the village.

And if every Keith said was true, then winning the village back, saving Swirn’s people, would be the first time that the Galra were pushed back. The first time anyone had successfully led an attack _against_ them rather than just defending against one of the Empire’s attacks.

Even if there was only a chance of victory, even if it was risky, Lance knew that it was something they had to carry out, as soon as possible.

If it didn’t work, they could come back later after finding another mouse and a better plan, training a little more, trusting a little more, but if that happened, Lance had no doubt in his mind that the village would be better guarded.

They were already taking their best shot.

Lance just hoped it worked.

His foot landed on the jagged, icy edge of the lake and he stumbled backward, startled as much by how quickly he’d reached his destination as his near plunge into its icy depths.

“Okay…” he muttered. “I’m here. So...what now?”

 

* * *

 

Keith slid back on the icy path as Throk’s blade connected with his own.

“You’re very persistent, you know,” said Throk. Keith hated his face. His grin was too wide, like a Thalia mask. “Too persistent. If it wasn’t for your little friend, you’d be at the bottom of a frozen lake right now.” He turned his sword over in his hand. “I’m sure Commander Haxus would love another go at your head.”

Keith gripped his sword with both hands. The point began to glow.

╔══════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ａｔｔａｃｋ： Ｃｏｍｂｕｓｔｉｏｎ

Ｅｆｆｅｃｔ： Ｅｍｂｅｌｌｉｓｈｅｓ ｏｎｅ ａｔｔａｃｋ  
ｗｉｔｈ ａ ｆｉｅｒｙ ｅｘｐｌｏｓｉｏｎ．

╚══════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

 

* * *

 

Lance kneeled at the edge of the ice. He had an idea, and absolutely no idea whether it would work.

But it was worth a try.

He hovered his hand over the water’s surface. It still had that strange, slushy consistency that it had had the last time Lance had seen it.

Hunk had told Lance that there were some abilities that each class had from the start, little things that didn’t take much mana. Cantrips. For Hunk, it had been tracking through stone. Pidge, apparently, could walk through grass and twigs like a ghost, which hadn’t sounded like much until Lance realized how handy it would be sneaking up on something in the woods.

Lance hadn’t figured out his cantrip yet. He hadn’t had the chance to experiment since the night Hunk had brought them up after the movie. But he knew they must have had something to do with his magic type and his class.

But he’d had a theory, one definitely worth trying.

He lowered his hand slowly, anxiously toward the water. He screwed his eyes shut, afraid that he was wrong, afraid that he was just dipping his glove into freezing cold water and that he was about to get soaked.

And his hand hit the surface like it was stone.

Lance’s eyes snapped open, and he watched white crystals form across the lake as if he’d just disturbed a bottle of supercooled water.

Warily, Lance climbed to his feet and slid his foot onto the new layer of ice. He put a little of his weight on it, then a lot of his weight. The ice held, and the closer Lance crept to the edge, the further it spread.

He took another step, then another. The ice kept up with him effortlessly. And strangely, Lance felt warmer. Like he was stealing all the thermal energy in a meter radius around him.

His gait changed gradually from wary steps to a comfortable walking speed, then back to a run. And no matter how far he strayed from the ice he created, it stayed solid, as if it had wanted to be frozen all along and had just been waiting for someone to give it permission.

Lance grabbed his robes around his knees and pulled them up a few inches, freeing his legs to run faster with no fear of being cold.

For the first time, he was truly happy about the magic the game had chosen for him. Maybe it knew what it was doing.

 

* * *

 

Keith panted over the pile of items Throk had left behind when he died.

That fight had been more of a blow to Keith’s stamina than he’d anticipated. Not to mention his MP.

But the blizzard had stopped, and Lance still had all his HP. Hopefully, that was a good thing. Hopefully.

Unfortunately, with the snowstorm gone, the merpeople could see Keith effortlessly.

And they didn’t look happy.

Keith gripped his sword.

“Hurry up, Lance…”

 

* * *

 

Lance turned in place, peering through the water at the enormous shadow circling the lake beneath him.

“Okay, girl,” he whispered gently, dropping to his knees. “I’m not going down there, so...how do I get you to come up here?”

He reached into the bag under his cloak and drew his bow.

He nocked an arrow, took aim…

And then he hesitated.

The arrow in his hand disappeared, and he lowered his bow. He continued to lower it until the end of it slipped into the water.

The Baku’s circling changed course, and she barreled toward the surface like a bat out of hell. She broke into open air, and water splashed in every direction. Lance wasn’t sure how he managed to get only a little damp, but he only had seconds to be relieved before the Baku tore into the tail of the trail he made. Her bite tore Lance’s walkway in half, quickly and effectively leaving Lance stranded in the middle of the lake and nearly throwing him into the water in the process.

Lance dropped to his knee and pressed his hands to what was left of his platform. He understood how the lake had managed to keep from completely freezing, but that did little to calm his nerves.

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice a much higher pitch than he wanted it to be. “So I’m on this little two-meter diameter block of ice in the middle of a freezing cold lake and there’s no way off. Okay. No big deal. I can handle this. It’s all cool. Hah, yeah, it’s cool. That’s the problem. Oh, man.”

Lance kept his eyes trained on the Baku as she circled him, the manta ray-like flaps poking out over the water like the dorsal fin of a shark.

Lance liked sharks. He always had. True, he’d never want to be in deep enough water to see one up close, but as long as he was watching a video or looking at a photograph, he thought they were great. And when he was a little kid, before the trauma that left him with a permanent fear of water, he’d wanted nothing more than to swim with sharks one day.

The Baku’s behavior, when it was near the surface as it was, almost reminded Lance of a shark. Every movement was elegant and fluid, effortless, like dancing. Not stiff, like dolphins, or twitchy, like smaller fish. Easy. Silky. And though the Baku was a great deal bigger, a great deal more _aggressive_ than the average shark would have been...there was a beauty about her. Something Lance hadn’t caught when he was panicking at the bottom of a frozen lake.

Abruptly, the Baku changed force, and she began to charge.

Lance’s heart thumped wildly in his chest. He knew he should have been afraid of her, of her giant teeth, of her unnatural maw, of the sheer size of her, but one thought terrified Lance more than anything else.

_She’s going to knock me into the water._

Frantic, irrational, desperate, Lance jumped to his feet and threw his arms out.

“ _Stop!_ ” he screamed, eyes shut tight, bracing himself for the impact that he knew would come because there was absolutely no way that he could stop something that big, that ferocious, just by asking nicely.

A wave kicked up beneath Lance’s frozen platform, sending it wobbling back and forth. He lost his footing and slipped forward. He held his breath.

And something caught him.

Something solid and rough and warm and sandpaper-like nudged under his hands. It scratched at his palms, and he knew he lost a hitpoint or two, but it was a great deal better than falling into the water. A breathless, shaky gasp shuddered from Lance’s lungs and he leaned forward to press his face against the same warm, rough surface that had saved him from the water.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay.” He took a deep breath in through his nose, released it through his mouth, and opened his eyes.

And he found himself staring at the Baku’s enormous, eyeless, cross-mouthed face. Or what little of it peeked past the surface of the lake.

Lance yelped and stumbled backward, startled, nearly sending himself into the water all on his own, only to be stopped when the Baku nudged his tiny, frozen platform back, causing him to trip forward and yet again land on the end of her nose.

“Oh, man,” breathed Lance, half-hugging the Baku’s nose. “Oh, geez. Okay, getting saved by a big, scary sea creature. Better than being eaten by one. I can work with this. I can totally work with this. Yeah.”

Lance took a cautious step back and steadied himself on the ice.

He looked at the Baku.

The Baku… Well, Lance couldn’t say it looked back, not when it didn’t have eyes, but he still felt its gaze somehow, the way its face was pointed toward him.

“You know,” he said slowly, “you’re not the first person...or, well... _being,_ I guess, I met recently who didn’t turn out as bad as I thought they would be.” He tentatively reached out and, after a moment of hesitation, dragged the backs of his fingernails gently along the grain of the Baku’s scales.

She didn’t respond, negatively nor positively. Lance snatched his hand away just in case.

“Uhh…” Lance cleared his throat. “My friend, Keith… He was the one who was, uh, with me, the last time I was here.”

He kneeled on the ice. The Baku lowered her head just slightly, as if following him there.

“I didn’t like him at all when we met.” Lance clasped his hands on his knees and started playing with his thumbnail. “But, you know, I got to know him, and… I mean, he’s got some anger issues.” He scoffed. “That’s for sure. But...he’s also basically one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. I mean…” Lance reached up and ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, everyone he’s ever met loves him, and I thought at first it was just because he was this cool, smug, devil may care hero type, you know? But that’s not who he is at all, and that’s not why they liked him. He’s just…”

Lance sighed and crossed his arms.

The Baku nudged Lance’s platform with her nose. Not enough to move it across the water, just enough to jostle it a little. It was as if she was saying, _Go on. Tell me more._ Lance wasn’t even convinced she understood him. Maybe she just liked the sound of his voice.

“Well, he’s...selfless,” said Lance. “You know, he’s always trying to help people. Like, _all the time._ He even helped me half a dozen times before I realized that was what he was doing.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “He’s kind of awkward. Gets angry when he’s scared or sad or just confused. So I just kind of assumed he was out to get me. Turns out he’s just this defensive loser who’s been through a lot. You know, he…” Lance dropped his hand and just stared at it, just to give himself something to look at other than the Baku herself. “I don’t know all the details, but I know he lost some people...somehow. One of them died, and the other one doesn’t even know he’s here, and I feel like whatever happened between them was probably some stupid misunderstanding or something because I talked to the one who’s still alive and he really seems to miss Keith a lot.”

Lance raised his head and looked at the Baku properly.

“You lost someone, too, right?” Lance looked in the direction he came from, southward. “I saw it in the...Blaytz the Romantic statue...thing. She was your…” He looked toward the Baku again. “What, your master? Friend? Partner?”

The Baku pulled back a few inches. Hardly a movement at all considering the size of her. She hissed, but Lance felt no aggression in it.

“I’m sorry about what happened to her,” said Lance. “I still…” He closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. “I still hear her screaming in my head. It was…” Lance shook his head. There were no words for it. “...I’ve never dealt with anything like the Galra before. And I’ve played a _lot_ of games. These are the first villains I feel like actually want to hurt...like, to bring _real harm_ to the people in the game. It’s _disturbing._ ”

The Baku stopped hissing.

Lance opened his eyes and saw her lift her head, recoiling. The moss-like mane on the back of her neck stood on end. The points of her fins curled upward. For a second, Lance thought she was going to attack him.

Then he realized what she was really thinking.

“You…” Lance climbed to his feet. “Holy crow! You didn’t know it was the Galra, did you? That’s why you’ve been helping them!”

The Baku began hissing again, but this time, she was _definitely_ showing signs of aggression.

“I’ll bet you think the merpeople did it or something.” Lance raised his hands placatingly. “Look, the Galra have done a lot of bad things to a lot of good people. From what Keith told me, they’ve been doing it for a long time. But we’re trying to change that.” He reached a hand toward the Baku. “It was the Shaman’s job to help people, right? One of the last things she said before the Galra took her out was that she wanted to stop them from killing people no matter what. I think she was trying to do exactly what Keith’s doing now.

“If you helped us, you’d be continuing her legacy.” Lance lowered his hand and curled his fingers toward his palm. “Okay, the Galra probably told you something like that, too.” He raised both hands toward the Baku. “But— But this is different! The Merfolk Village should belong to the merpeople, right? I’m not telling you to take something over! I just want you to give something back! Did the Shaman ever want you to help the Galra take over the village? Did she ever ask any of this from you?”

The Baku snarled, and her tail came up to the surface to flick the water. She charged past Lance and began to circle the platform he stood on, just like she had before, but closer to the ice itself this time, closer to him.

“I know you’re upset,” said Lance, turning on the ice to follow the Baku’s path with his eyes. “Believe me, so am I, and I only saw the Shaman for a few minutes. And I know you’re seriously peeved about being tricked, and I know you don’t want to be tricked again, but I’m not trying to trick you!”

The Baku coiled tighter, swimming tight enough that she nearly ran into her own tail.

“It’s not easy losing someone,” said Lance, frantic. “No matter how long ago you lost them or how long you knew them or what circumstances you lost them in. I get it! It sucks! I lost someone when I was little, and I’ve obsessed over that every stupid day since it happened!” He clenched his hands into fists. “But it’s not the end of the world! That doesn’t have to be your whole life! You can make friends who understand you, or meet someone who makes you forget that you ever lost anyone because something about them just...fills the hole that person left behind! Maybe not completely, but almost!”

Lance stopped spinning and rubbed his forehead. “I’m not making a whole lot of sense, just…” He lifted his head. “I’m just trying to say that I get what you’re going through, and yeah, it hurts! It’s like a question that makes you so curious that it _burns_ , and it’ll never have an answer. But you can still treat the burn. And you can come up with your own answers that, okay, might not be perfect, but at least they’ll turn down the flame. And maybe I—” Lance sought out the Baku and found her behind him. “Maybe I could be your answer!”

The Baku slowed her spiraling and dipped under the water like a snake burying itself in the sand.

Lance dropped to his knees and peered over the edge of his platform, searching the water for the Baku’s shadow.

He didn’t have to search for long.

The Baku nosed the edge of the ice beneath Lance’s knees and raised the end of what Lance could only call its muzzle out of the water. Like it was guilty. Or asking for something. Lance couldn’t quite tell.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, warily reaching down. “I know I’m not her, but if you want me, you’ve got me.”

The second Lance’s hand met the Baku’s rough scales, it was like the world’s softest explosion took place.

The Baku’s scales flared on end and burst out of her. Some took to the air like dead, brown leaves, only to be blown away like sand, but most scattered into the water, dissolving and dissipating until there was nothing left but a slender sea serpent.

A head much smaller than the Baku’s pushed past the surface of the water. Smaller, but still large. Bigger than Red’s, even. She bumped against Lance, the end of her nose meeting Lance’s knees and her brow pressing itself to Lance’s forehead.

A calmness spread through Lance’s soul. He felt at peace, more at peace than he’d ever been, even surrounded by water. Something tickled his neck, and he reached up to grab for whatever had caused the tickling just as the serpent pulled away.

There was a necklace there, joining the Celestial Key with a much less elegant leather cord. And weighing down that cord was...

It was a tooth, like the one the Shaman had been wearing as an earring, but larger. Perhaps a different kind of tooth. But the meaning was still clear.

The Baku, or rather the serpent she truly was, had chosen Lance to take the Shaman’s place.

Lance lifted his head and looked into the serpent’s eyes. “...Really?” he murmured. “You sure?”

The serpent blinked her brilliant, cobalt eyes long and slow, like a pleased cat, and Lance smiled.

“Okay,” he said, tucking the tooth into his robes. “Wow, this went a lot better than I thought it would. Wait ‘til Keith—”

Lance pulled open his group information and the smile that had started to tug at his lips disappeared as soon as it came.

Keith’s HP was a lot lower than it had been the last time Lance had checked. It shot back up for a moment, then began to decrease again in chunks at a time. He must have used a healing item, but he was clearly in as much danger as he had been.

“I’ve got to get out there!” Lance jumped to his feet and took a step off what was left of his icy path. Without the anchor to solid ground he’d had before, the ice beneath him was wobbly, and it was impossible to go the speed he wanted.

“Rrgh… Okay. Blue?” Lance turned toward the sea serpent in the water, referring more to her electric eyes than her navy scales. “You’re water-aligned, right?” He dropped to a knee. “I need to get back to shore, but I can’t go in the water. Can you do anything to help me out?”

Blue’s eyes glinted almost mischievously, as if she took the request as a challenge, and she dipped under the water.

The second she did, the surface of the water gleamed, then began to solidify from the last point on the surface Blue had touched. In seconds, the water had turned to ice far faster than Lance could keep up.

“Whoa!” Lance grinned. “All right! Now we’re talking!”

Blue’s silhouette twisted excitedly and she took off in the direction of the village, leading the way under Lance’s feet.

 

* * *

 

Keith hadn’t anticipated Throk’s spawn point being all the way back in Daibazaal, where he could call for reinforcements.

That was stupid. He could admit that.

But judging by the odd mix of clarity and startled confusion in the eyes of every slowly-waking merperson around him, the Galra weren’t the only ones who had backup.

Whatever Lance had done had worked _._ The merpeople weren’t being controlled anymore.

“Now all we have to worry about…” Keith locked eyes with a Galra footsoldier and smirked. “...is you.”

It was a beautiful sight to behold. Every merperson taking up arms, grabbing spears and nets off the walls of their homes, fighting for themselves. Fighting alongside Keith.

Keith had gotten a taste of something similar on the boat, when Swirn, Plaxum, and Blumfump were on his side, but never before had he been supported to such a scale. An entire village at his back was entirely new. New, and incredible.

Every time Keith was knocked down, someone would pick him back up. When he was backed into a corner, someone would draw the pursuing Galra off his tail. When he was low on health, someone would heal him.

They were evenly matched. The Galra had an army of their own, healers of their own.

But Keith was lying if he said he didn’t feel safer than he ever had facing an army of Galra on his own.

Even after he was disarmed.

 

* * *

 

The second Lance entered the village, the second he saw what was going on, he drew his bow. He still felt Blue under his feet, using the frozen pathways to travel. Apparently, the ice didn’t go all the way down. There was water under there. Lance’s best guess was that the reason Blue had been stuck in the lake for so long was that any water connected to the lake was too narrow for the bigger Baku to travel through.

But the skinny sea serpent Lance had bonded with? No problem.

Lance could feel her move beneath him, twisting to stop herself like a skier sliding to a stop any time Lance stopped to take aim at any of the Galra’s metal sentries.

“I swear, the village wasn’t like this when I left!” Lance narrowed his eyes and lowered his armed bow, tapping his foot impatiently above Blue’s head. “You know, I bet this was Keith’s fault. This is exactly why I told him to be subtle. But does he listen? N— Hey!”

A split second before a mermaid was hit with a well-aimed fire spell, Lance leapt off the path and tackled her behind one of the houses.

“You okay?” asked Lance, climbing off the pink-and-yellow woman he’d just pushed to safety, knowing she couldn’t understand him.

She responded by yanking Lance down by the shoulder and planting a kiss on his cheek. She brought her hand to her lips to sign a quick _thank you_ and dashed off, leaving Lance dazed and very much pleased behind the house.

“Well,” he said, lips curling into a smile. “You’re very welcome, pretty lady.”

Remembering where he was, Lance shook the infatuated daze out of his head and scanned the rooftops, the icy streets, anywhere the action was, knowing that another certain pretty person had to be where the action was.

He didn’t find Keith until he took to the streets again.

And while Keith going toe-to-toe with Sendak bare-handed was one of the coolest things Lance had ever seen, he also knew that there was no way Keith would do that unless he had no other option.

_What happened to—? Screw that! He needs a weapon!_

Lance reached into his bag, searching in futile desperation for something Keith could use as a weapon.

_I’m a mage! What do I have he can use? Nothing! Not a—_

Lance’s thoughts ground to a halt as his fingers brushed over something cool and metallic.

He yanked it out of his bag and stared, lips parted.

He’d forgotten about that thing _completely._ And who could blame him when it was just something he’d haphazardly shoved into his bag before diving off the edge of a boat? He didn’t even know what it was.

But Sendak had been using it, and Sendak was obviously _some_ kind of melee class. There was a chance.

“Keith!” Lance threw the odd red-and-white _thing_ down the path with all his strength. “Catch!”

Keith miraculously heard him through the chaos of the battle and turned toward him, hand outstretched, ready to catch whatever had been thrown his way.

Unfortunately, Sendak heard him, too.

 

* * *

 

Keith trusted his own skill with a sword. Even with a knife. But both of those had wound up in the snow at some point in the chaos and he hadn’t had time to root around for them.

But when Sendak was staring him down and all Keith had to defend himself with were his fists, he doubted he could win.

None of the merpeople had noticed he was unarmed. Either that, or they assumed he was capable enough in hand-to-hand combat. And while he would have been able to hold his own on Earth, Altea had its own rules, and Keith was no devotee. Warriors weren’t as good with their fists.

Keith raised his arms to chin-level, doing whatever he could to defend himself.

 _I need help,_ he thought desperately. _Come on, you were helping me this whole fight. Why can’t any of you help me now?_

And then it happened.

Like a lighthouse beacon cutting through the fog, like a candle through the darkness, Lance’s voice cut through the clangs and scrapes of metal on metal, the war cries, and the anguished screams.

Without hesitation, without thinking, without anything less than absolute trust—because, _Ancients,_ did Keith trust Lance, he swore he did—Keith thrust out a hand.

And just as his hand wrapped around the weapon thrown his way, just as he understood what it was, Sendak made a grab for it.

Only for the ice beneath his feet to snap like a Christmas cracker and an almost alligator-like head broke through the ground. It latched onto Sendak, threw him against the ground with a violent whip of its neck, and killed him before he could scream, then slipped back under the water it sprung from without an instant of hesitation.

Keith stumbled back, eyes wide, and nearly ran into someone behind him. Something sharp came in contact with his back, and he turned around, weapon raised.

The Bayard in his hand flashed red, extended into a sword Keith hadn’t seen in months, and knocked the Galra behind him back.

The Galra charged for Keith again, but before she could reach him, an arrow pierced her armor and sent her down in a puff of purple smoke.

“What a jackass, am I right?” came Lance’s chipper voice. “You okay, there, Mullet?”

Keith turned, eyes wide, and stared at Lance.

Then at the Bayard in his hand.

Then back at Lance.

Keith could have _kissed_ him.

“Where did you find my Bayard?” asked Keith, smiling, breathless.

“Oh, that’s yours?” asked Lance with a lopsided smile of his own. “I got it off Sendak back on the boat. If I knew it was yours, I would have given it to you right away. I mean, obviously, I should have given it to you anyway. It matches all your outfits.”

Keith laughed, bemused, and opened his mouth to quip something back, but before he got the chance, Lance’s eyes darted over his shoulder and widened.

“Look out!” he cried, raising his bow an loosing an arrow that hit something metallic. By the time Keith whipped around to see whatever Lance had fired at, there was nothing left but a cloud of smoke.

“Come on,” said Lance, thumping at Keith’s back. “I’ll be more useful on higher ground, and I could really use someone watching my back. You in?”

Keith turned, toward him, smirking. “With pleasure.”

“Great!” Lance turned around and broke into a run.

Keith followed him for only a few seconds before he noticed that Lance’s shadow was a bit longer than usual.

“Lance,” he called, eyes on the ground. “What’s that?”

“After what she did to Sendak, she’s clearly my new best friend.” Lance stole a look over his shoulder. “But for real?” He tugged at something under his collar and pulled a leather cord free with the hook of his thumb.

“A mount,” deadpanned Keith. “You have a mount.”

“You did say they change form when you bond with them,” said Lance, dropping his new summon material back under his robes.

“Wait,” said Keith. “Are you telling me that _that…_ ” He looked down at the long, winding shadow beneath their feet. “...is the _Baku?_ ”

“No,” said Lance cheekily. “I’m saying she _was_ the Baku. And now she’s Blue, my best bud for life.”

Keith laughed faintly.

Lance was full of surprises.

They didn’t spend long on the mound of snow Lance had found. Keith wasn’t sure whether it was Blue’s periodic appearances, the disheartening realization that they’d lost the village they’d had under control for months, or just the fact that they’d been beaten back and it took too many resources to keep showing back up at the village, but around the turn of the varga, the Galra retreated en masse. One by one, they threw back Yellow Potions, many of them dying in the process thanks to their undead status.

And after more than two deca-phoebes of occupation, the Galra were gone.

The first whistle nearly made Keith jump out of his skin.

Then came the second.

Then the third.

Before Keith knew it, the entire village echoed with loud, victorious whistles.

Lance threw his arms over his head, bow and all, and whooped as far as his lungs could carry.

“I can’t whistle with my fingers like that!” he cried, triumphant. “But heck yeah!”

He flopped backward onto the snowbank, arms still over his head as if he planned on making a snow angel then and there.

“Holy crap,” he breathed, audibly exhausted. “Man, I haven’t even eaten _breakfast_ yet and we liberated an entire people. I can’t wait to see Swirn’s face.”

Keith chuckled and slowly lowered himself to the snow beside Lance, Bayard deactivated. “She gets to go home.”

“Yeah.” Lance turned his head and sent Keith a wide smile. “We did something pretty great today.”

“Well…” Keith pressed his cheek to the snow. “You did most of it.”

“Oh, pff.” Lance rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t have even _gotten_ here if it wasn’t for you. I wouldn’t have the snow spell that got me to Lovers’ Lake, I wouldn’t know how dangerous the Galra are or why they have to be stopped— I wouldn’t even know Swirn.” He pushed playfully at Keith’s face. “Deal with it, loser. You’re as much to do with this victory as I am.” He planted his elbow in the snow and raised his hand, his fingers half-curled. “We’re a team. Got it?”

Keith smiled and grasped Lance’s hand, firm and amicable. “Got it.”

Their joined hands hit the snow, and Lance’s fingers twitched. Keith assumed that meant he was pulling back and loosened his grip, but rather than pull away, Lance simply shifted his grip, and his fingers slid in between Keith’s like they were always meant to be there.

Keith’s heart leapt into his throat.

_That was...weird._

“Blue likes you,” said Lance, stealing Keith away from his thoughts.

“Oh… Yeah?” Keith raised his eyebrows. “How can you tell?”

“She beat the crap out of Sendak without me telling her to,” said Lance. “And, uh, I think she found your knife.”

Brow furrowed, Keith lifted his head off the snow and looked toward the river, where Blue was pushing her rounded snout into the snow, overturning something that very clearly caught the light.

“I didn’t tell her to do that,” said Lance. “She just did it. I guess she saw you in trouble and decided she needed to help.”

“You mean like you?” Keith fell back against the snow and raised his deactivated Bayard to the light. It was such a relief to have its familiar weight in his hand again. “I thought stopping to help you back when we were looking for the Fallen Star ruined my chances of ever getting this back.”

“That’s why you wanted the Star?” asked Lance.

“Sendak won the Bayard off me ages ago,” said Keith, letting his arm fall again. “Fallen Stars grant wishes. Material ones. They turn into any item you want, as long as it’s in the game. It’s just… The reason I lost my chance to get my Bayard back that day was that I stopped to help you, but if I didn’t do that…” He met Lance’s eyes. “You wouldn’t have been the one to get it to me today.”

Lance shrugged. “Guess some things are fated to happen.”

Keith hummed noncommittally.

“So if the Fallen Star gives you any item…” Lance tightened his grip on Keith’s hand. “What does it mean if the Galra got one?”

“I have no idea,” said Keith. “Whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

“Well, they better have picked a good item.” Lance smirked. “They’re gonna need all the help they can get if they plan on making it past _us_.”

Keith couldn’t help smiling. He liked it. That “us”. Like the two of them were an army all on their own. “I guess.”

“You _guess?_ ” Lance sat up and gestured to the village with his bow. “Look what we did here! We’ve got the Galra on the run! I don’t care how big and bad they think they are. They’re scared of us, and they _should_ be. Look.”

He climbed to his feet, pulling Keith along with him. The second they stood, hair a mess, snow clinging to their clothes, the entire village rang with another chorus of triumphant whistles. Lance laughed eagerly and yanked their joined hands into the air.

“Look at all these people, Keith!” Lance yanked their hands back down, level with their faces. “Look at how many there are! They all believe in us!” He squeezed Keith’s hand so hard it shook. “And so do I. Get with the program already! I want to hear you say it!”

Keith laughed. “All right! Fine! I believe in us!”

“You better!” Lance’s eyes twinkled mischievously, and before Keith had a chance to brace himself, Lance bent down and lifted him into his arms.

He twirled him around just once before setting him back down with a string of apologies and an insistence that he’d just gotten caught up in the moment and a promise that it wouldn’t happen again, but Keith was too busy laughing to care about any of it.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy.

 

* * *

 

Shiro raised his eyebrow at the state of the hotel room. All of the lights were off, save for the dim glow from Keith’s laptop, and they seemed to be short a person.

“Did Matt go somewhere?” asked Shiro, closing the door behind himself.

“Pidge called,” said Keith, glued to his screen. “He went out on the balcony to talk without distracting me.”

“How’s the essay going?” asked Shiro.

“Don’t say ‘essay’ to me right now,” replied Keith, narrowing his eyes.

Shiro smiled sympathetically and took one of the white boxes out from under his arm. “Here,” he said, sliding the box across the bed. “Study snack.”

Keith stopped typing and looked down at the box. “...That’s where you went? To get cookies?” He lifted his head, frowning. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I wanted to,” said Shiro.

He was halfway to the balcony door when Keith said, “Do these...have _bacon_ in them? ...Shiro, I love you.”

Shiro laughed. “Love you, too, buddy.”

The second Shiro worked the heavy door open, he heard Matt’s voice come through as clear as day, and there was no need to doubt that he was, indeed, talking to Pidge.

“Yeah, but _did_ you run it as an administrator? ...No, of course you’re not. You’re a _Holt_. I’m just covering all bases. I’d feel much better if you checked. ...Ha! You see? Everything would just go a lot smoother if you listened to your big brother every once in a while. _Now_ check the RAID definitions.”

Shiro smiled fondly and closed the door behind himself before taking a seat across from Matt and setting the remaining box down on the table.

“That’s what I keep _telling you_. Just because you’re the hardware expert between us doesn’t mean I turn into a gibbering moron when faced with a motherboard. You should see my server room sometime. ...What, before the game is done? Not a _chance._ ” Matt sent Shiro a wink across the table. “Anyway, the world’s best business partner just got back, so I’m gonna let you go. ...Shut up, Pidge. ...I’m going to pretend you said that sincerely and just say I love you, too. _Bye, Pidge._ ”

Matt rolled his eyes and set down his phone. “You know, I love Pidge more than anything, but they are _merciless_ when they have something to tease me about.” His eyes darted toward the table. “Now, for the important question: Are any of those peanut butter?”

“Actually,” said Shiro, pushing the box toward Matt, “they _all_ are. And they’re a present.”

“Oh, yeah?” Matt flicked open the lid. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” said Shiro, crossing his arms over the table. “Just feeling generous. Keith got some, too.”

Matt hummed thoughtfully and plucked one of the cookies from the box. “Well, if that’s case…” He bent the cookie in half and carefully separated the two ends. “I _have_ to share at _least_ the first one.”

He reached across the table and pushed the cookie toward Shiro’s lips.

Shiro sighed good-naturedly and leaned across the few inches left between them to take a bite.

They tasted _very_ strongly of peanut butter. Shiro mentally patted himself on the back for picking a good bakery, then met Matt’s gaze from across the table. He had his chin in his hand, the same hand that held his half of the cookie.

“You…” Shiro chuckled and took what was left of his half out of Matt’s hand with his fingers. “You’re getting crumbs all over your face.”

Matt’s eyes widened and he yanked his hand away and wiped at his jaw with the cleaner backs of his fingers.

Shiro laughed and leaned across the table to brush away the tiny clumps of cookie he’d missed.

Matt sent him a crooked smile. “What are you, my mom?”

“Well,” said Shiro, “she’s not here right now, so someone has to pick up the slack, right?”

His hand lingered for a moment under the curve of Matt’s jaw, and with the skip of his heart, Shiro realized, for what felt like the millionth time, exactly how easy it would be to tilt Matt’s face up toward his and just…

But it wasn’t easy at all. Not really. Matt was his best friend, the force most responsible for keeping Shiro’s head above water when he lived with daily reminders of how much his parents hated people like him, when he knew it was only a matter of time before they left him, when he knew it would be okay because at least he would still have Matt at the end of it all.

And the idea of losing Matt like he’d lost his parents, of losing the kind of closeness where he could reach across a table and clear Matt’s face of cookie crumbles or share a bed with him when one of them had had a bad day or squeeze his hand to shake the nervousness before walking onto a stage to talk about Project Beta, was too much to bear.

And besides...Matt wasn’t interested. Shiro had seen it. He’d been texting Rolo more and more with every passing day.

So Shiro pulled away, like he always did, and sat back down in the woven chair at his side of the table.

Matt leaned back in his own chair and popped his half-squished cookie into his mouth whole, throwing one arm behind his head.

“...The stars aren’t very bright out here,” he said, half-muffled by his full mouth.

“Light pollution,” said Shiro, tilting his head back to look at what few stars he could see.

Matt intoned an agreeable, “Hmn.” He swallowed, then sat up a little straighter. “...Hey, Shiro?”

“Yeah?” Shiro took his eyes off the dim sky in favor of looking at Matt, who still had his head tilted back.

“You know that thing I said about stars the night you dragged me out of my room? About how they’re dead long before we actually see them die?”

Shiro lowered his brow, worried. “Yeah, I remember.”

Matt smiled. “I think I went about that the wrong way.” He absently flicked his fingers over the balcony floor, ridding himself of the crumbs in his hands. “I mean, I was still sort of right, but I was looking at it in the wrong light.”

Shiro felt some of the lines in his forehead iron out. Just some of them. “Meaning?”

“ _Meaning_ ,” said Matt, “it’s not about being blissfully ignorant. We _know_ how light travels. We _know_ that stars die. We _know_ the stars we’re wishing on are probably dead. But we wish on them anyway. Why do you think we do that, Shiro?”

“I…” Shiro crossed his arms over the table. “I don’t know. I guess I never gave it any thought.”

“Because it doesn’t _matter_ that they’re dead,” said Matt brightly. “It _never_ mattered. We don’t wish on them because they’re alive. That was never part of the equation. That’s like looking at a simple two-plus-two equation and asking about logarithms. Who the heck wishes on a star thinking about burning hydrogen millions of lightyears away? It’s not about the star.” He pointed up at the sky. “It’s about the _light._ That rare twinkle we see best when things are at their darkest. _That’s_ why we wish on them. When we’re in the kind of situation where we’re desperate enough to make wishes in the first place, when everything seems hopeless, we pick something that thrives in those conditions. It doesn’t matter where the light came from. It doesn’t matter that the source of the light has been dead for years and years. The important thing is that it’s _there._ ”

He hesitated.

“...People are like that, too.”

Matt sat straight in his chair and set his hands on the table, his gaze locked with Shiro’s. “I wouldn’t be who I am without my dad. When I’m stuck on something, whether it’s programming or just _life_ stuff, I think, ‘What would my dad do?’ And I do it. Like that time you were stressed out before our dinner with the Sinclines. I wouldn’t have known how to help you if it wasn’t for my dad.” He looked at his hands. “So, yeah, maybe he’s gone. But his light is still here. Like a star. Brightest when things are dark.”

Shiro opened his mouth, struggling for words, awestruck. It was amazing, how someone so intelligent and so beautiful could also be so _wise._ Shiro had the feeling those words would ring through his dreams a thousand times before he forgot them. “Matt—”

“Have you talked to Allura recently?” asked Matt, abruptly changing the subject.

“I— Uh—” Shiro blinked and shook his head, taken off-guard by the sudden shift in tone and topic. “Not… Not really. I mean, I’ve tried, but she doesn’t really answer my messages most of the time.”

“Yeah, same here,” said Matt, crossing his arms over the tabletop. “Basically radio silence outside of work stuff. I don’t think she keeps in touch with people over distance well. I don’t even think she kept in touch with her _dad_. That’s probably part of the reason she went home in the first place.”

Shiro hummed thoughtfully. It was no secret that he missed Allura. And it was no secret that Matt missed her as much as he did. They talked about her often. And if Shiro was honest with himself—

“You still love her, don’t you?” asked Matt, his voice quiet. “I see it when we talk about her. You get all…” He raised a hand and wiggled his fingers. “... _conflicted._ ”

Shiro pursed his lips and looked down at the table. “...Yeah. I do. And I doubt that’s going away anytime soon.”

“Yeah,” sighed Matt, sounding almost _exhausted_ all of a sudden. “I figured as much.”

“What about you and Rolo?” asked Shiro, lifting his head.

“Uh…” Matt raised an eyebrow. “...Me and Rolo what? Have I talked to him recently?”

“No,” said Shiro. “Do you… The other thing.”

“Do I—” Matt’s eyes briefly narrowed, then snapped wide open. “Wait, are you asking me if I’m _in love with Rolo?_ ”

Shiro pursed his lips and shrugged. “Not...necessarily in _love,_ but… I guess I’m asking if he’s, you know, on your radar.”

“On my radar,” echoed Matt in audible disbelief. “How did you even—” He barked a laugh. “ _No_ , he’s not _‘on my radar’,_ _Shiro_. Oh, my _god._ ”

Shiro sighed sharply and rolled his eyes. “Come on, Matt. I’ve never seen you show interest in anyone like that. You talk to him all the time.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” said Matt, still half-laughing. “He’s basically Project Beta’s casting director. He texts me every time he finds someone— I told you that!”

“No,” said Shiro, narrowing his eyes skeptically. “You never told me that.”

“I _totally_ —” Matt furrowed his brow. “...Unless I just had really vivid fever dreams, which...I guess is possible.” He squinted at Shiro. “You did show up in my bathroom with soda, right? I didn’t make that whole experience up in my head, did I?”

“I showed up,” said Shiro, frowning.

“But I never told you about Rolo getting all his renaissance fair buddies in on Project Beta?”

“Before you dozed off and I carried you to bed? _No!_ ”

“Oh.” Matt laughed faintly. “Okay, well, now I can kind of see where you’re coming from. But I swear, none of that had anything to do with flirting. We were only talking about the project. We’re barely even _friends_.”

“No, I saw you talking to him when you met him,” insisted Shiro. “You were _definitely_ flirting.”

“How?” demanded Matt, grinning. As much as Shiro hated to admit it, Matt seemed genuinely _curious_. “How was that _flirting?_ ”

“You—!” Shiro pointed at Matt’s chest. “You wrote your number on his hand. That’s definitely flirty.”

“What was I supposed to do, let him type it into my phone?” Matt ran a hand through his hair. “He was ninety percent body paint, and I did _not_ trust his sealant. I didn’t _really_ want a purple phone.”

“Okay,” said Shiro, lowering his hand. He was starting to hope, and that hope was terrifying. “Well… If that wasn’t flirting, then why were you blushing like that?”

“I was blushing?” asked Matt, genuinely surprised. He reached for his cheek as if he was still blushing to that very day. “You noticed that?”

“Well, yeah,” said Shiro. The tiniest tap-tap-tap reached his ear. Matt was hitting the balcony floor with the toe of his shoe. “You were also laughing and sort of...playfully shoving him. It definitely looked like flirting. Even Keith noticed.”

“Keith doesn’t notice anything,” insisted Matt.

“You were kind of obvious,” said Shiro.

“Well,” said Matt, “maybe you came to the wrong conclusion. Which, I mean, if you were following Keith, I wouldn’t be surprised.” He slid his hand further up his face, to the point where he had to peek out between his ring finger and his pinky. “Not that Keith’s stupid or anything, but when it comes to people, I mean...he kind of... _is._ ”

“It’s not like Keith was the only one who saw something,” said Shiro. “I didn’t believe it at first. I mean, I’ve never seen you flirt with anyone. But then I looked for myself, and…”

“But we _weren’t flirting,_ ” insisted Matt, burying his face in his hands.

“Then why were you blushing?” asked Shiro.

“Because—” Matt sighed and bowed his head, still hiding behind his hands.

“You know you can tell me if you really do like him, right?” Shiro leaned forward, his arms crossed on the tabletop. “I won’t make fun of you or... _disapprove_ or anything. I’ll support you, I just...want to know.”

“I _don’t like him,_ ” insisted Matt, lifting his hands, but still hiding behind them by cupping them over his forehead. “He just...kinda...managed to find out who I _do_ like, and he was teasing me about it.”

Shiro sighed. His shoulders sank, and pieces of his heart fell into his stomach, shard by shard. “So you don’t like Rolo, but you do like _someone._ ” At least Shiro knew. At least he could stop hoping. “How long have you liked him? I’m assuming it’s a guy.”

“...A long time,” muttered Matt through a grimace Shiro heard rather than saw.

“How long?” asked Shiro.

“...High school,” murmured Matt, no louder than the wind. “...Freshman year, actually.”

Shiro knitted his brow. High school? Did they even still know anyone from high school? Well, Matt kept in touch with a _couple_ of their old classmates through social media. Shiro knew that. But Te-Osh and Olia were both girls. If Matt’s identity had changed, or if he’d met someone he considered an exception to the rule, he would have corrected Shiro’s assumption. Was there someone else he hadn’t told Shiro he kept in touch with? Maybe because he was embarrassed?

“...That long and you never told me?” asked Shiro, gripping his sleeve.

Matt lifted his head. The smudges on his glasses caught the city lights. “Okay, that’s not fair. I didn’t know about you and Allura until your first date.”

Shiro grunted quietly in the back of his throat. That was true. But that was... _complicated._ Not that Shiro could tell Matt why. “Okay, but how did Rolo find out? Did you know him before you met him at the con?”

“No,” said Matt, averting his eyes and grimacing. “Nothing like _that…_ ”

“Then how?” asked Shiro.

Matt hesitated. “Well...if I told you, you’d figure out who it is.” He sighed. “Actually...it’s probably too late. At this point, you’re too smart not to figure it out on your own, so…” He took his glasses off and began to clean them with his shirt. Shiro had the feeling he was using it as an excuse to avoid Shiro’s gaze. “I guess I better tell you. I’d...rather have you find out on my terms.”

Shiro straightened his back. “So...who is it?”

“I’m not just going to come out and _say_ it,” insisted Matt, placing his glasses back on his face. “ _This_ requires _finesse._ I’m going to paint you a picture. Set the stage. This isn’t just a confession to the _who does Matt like_ interrogation you put me through. This is a _story_ that needs to be told.”

Shiro picked at his jeans under the table. That sounded...like it was going to be painful. But if that was the way Matt wanted to talk about it, Shiro wasn’t going to stop him. “Okay. I’m listening.”

Matt nodded and leaned forward conspiratorially. “All right, so picture this.” He gestured dramatically with his hands, like he was telling a ghost story rather than a “this is how I met the love of my life” story. “Little Matt Holt. Well, not that little. Fifteen. It was my first ever convention, and my whole family was cosplaying. Even teeny, tiny, baby Pidge.”

“Like when I met you,” noted Shiro.

“Right,” said Matt absently. “So, I’d been looking forward to this for a long time. I’d been saving up my allowance for a _while._ I wanted to go to the vendor room by myself. And my parents were kind of nervous because there were a _lot_ of people there and I was still _kind of_ young, but they let me go on the grounds that I met them back at the water cooler they had by one of the panel rooms in twenty minutes. My dad and I had this ridiculous, dramatic moment where we synced up the timers on our phones. It was an _ordeal_.”

Shiro smiled, just a little bit. That sounded like something Matt and Sam would have done, for sure.

“So I went into the vendor room,” continued Matt, “wallet under the cape my dad made me, eyes scanning the whole room. And the plushies and the figures were pretty tempting, but what _really_ caught my eye was this rack of retro video games.”

Shiro nodded. That was what certainly what had caught _his_ eye during _his_ first convention. Not that he’d had the money to get anything at the time.

“So I started to walk over there, right?” Matt pressed all ten of his fingers against the tabletop. “But before I even got within two meters of the rack, I froze. My heart started beating out of my chest. My palms started to sweat under my leather gloves. I started _literally shaking in my boots._ I was basically about to have a panic attack, all because the _prettiest guy I had ever seen_ had just started perusing that exact same rack.”

Shiro furrowed his brow and leaned forward. “...So who was it?”

“Ah-ah,” said Matt, raising a hand. “Not yet. Can’t rush a good story.”

A protest formed at the tip of Shiro’s tongue, but then he noticed the way Matt’s hand was shaking. He was nervous. _Really_ nervous. And if he needed to work up to actually saying who it was, then Shiro would let him. Even if it was agonizing to sit and listen to the entire story of how Matt met the guy of his dreams.

Agonizing and frustrating. So far, Matt’s story reminded Shiro a lot of the day _they_ met. The time period, the costumes, the setting… It could have just as easily been _Shiro._ And there was some ugly, jealous part of him desperately insisting that it _should_ have been him.

“Anyway,” continued Matt, “I basically stood there for, like, a full minute because I was your typical, awkward, sweaty nerd. Totally incapable of talking to pretty boys. But then I remembered the time limit, and...it also sort of hit me that, yeah, I was just a skinny nerd, but hey, it was a _convention._ The guy I was ogling was bound to be a nerd, too. I mean, he was looking through retro games! He had to be!” Matt hunkered down close to the table, shoulders raised. “So I took a quick look at the camera of my phone to make sure my wig wasn’t doing anything weird, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and marched right on over.” He cleared his throat. “I might have, uh… Okay, I basically ran.” Matt laughed nervously and raked a much more visibly shaking hand through his hair. “I had more adrenaline going through me than I ever had before. I couldn’t contain myself.”

“Over a guy,” deadpanned Shiro, frowning.

“Not just a guy,” insisted Matt. “The _prettiest guy I had ever seen in my young life._ There’s a difference.”

Shiro sighed. He wished Matt would just get it over with. Rip it off like a bandage. But it seemed that was far from what he had planned.

“So I got over there and started sort of...pretending to browse through the games?” Another nervous laugh bubbled past Matt’s lips. “More like...blankly staring at obscure Mercury Gameflux titles while I occasionally stole glances at this pretty guy out of the corner of my eye. And let me tell you, Shiro, he was _even prettier up close._ I was about to _faint._ ”

“I think you’re getting a little side-tracked,” said Shiro, who very much did not want to hear Matt gush about this guy any more than he absolutely had to.

“No, I’m not,” said Matt. “This is part of the story. One of the _best_ parts of the story. Anyway…” He cleared his throat. “So, in kind of blankly staring at Mercury Gameflux games, I did sort of remember that was the reason I started walking toward the rack in the first place when I saw one of my favorite classic games ever. _Kerberos._ ”

Shiro knitted his brow. “That’s...funny—”

“Shh!” said Matt, holding up a hand. “No talking over the meet-cute!” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and dropped his hands to the table. “So I saw _Kerberos._ And I decided that was something I really _did want_. Not just as an excuse to stop staring at this kid like a creep. So I started to reach for it.” Eyes still closed, Matt reached out with one shaking hand, like he was years in the past, reliving that moment. “And I swear...like a cheesy teen movie, he started reaching for the same game…” Matt’s hand flinched, like it had bumped into an invisible barrier. “...And my hand touched his.”

Shiro looked down at his own hand, and he frowned. _Wait a minute…_

“I yanked my hand away and started, you know, apologizing over and over like the awkward nerd I was.” Matt opened his eyes and looked at his hand. “And he started doing the same. We started doing the whole ‘you take it,’ ‘no you take it,’ thing. And at some point, he said he was broke and he was just going to look at it anyway, and I… I don’t know, I got this wild idea.” He laughed softly and ran his hand through his hair. “I thought, you know… If I bought him the game, maybe he’d at least _remember_ me.” He cleared his throat. “So, you know, I did.”

Shiro’s heart began to race. Breathing became a foreign concept. “You… Matt?”

Matt raised his hand. “I’m… I’m not done yet.” He took a deep breath and looked out over the side of the balcony, toward the city. “...The, uh, prettiest guy I ever met...” Shiro’s heart _lurched._ “He refused the game. Over and over again. But I was more stubborn than he was, so I eventually convinced him, and his _smile_ when he finally _took_ the stupid thing was more than worth the cost of the game.” He sighed wistfully. “Shiro, I wish you could have seen it through my eyes. It was so shy and sweet and it sent goosebumps all the way down to my toes.”

Something glinted at the corner of Matt’s eye. Something that looked remarkably like a tear. Shiro wanted so badly to reach across the table and wipe it away, but he knew...he understood how badly Matt needed him to stay silent, at least until he’d finished telling the story.

And so he did. He waited, and he listened, and he let Matt tell the rest of his story.

“I talked to him for the next fifteen minutes. I barely had money left for a poster, so it’s not like I was going to do myself any favors by looking around at the other vendors. By the time my phone went off, I learned his name, which was the most beautiful name I’d ever heard, and I learned that we went to the same school, which was as incredible as it was confusing because I didn’t understand how I could have missed a face like his even in a crowded cafeteria, and I learned that his parents had dropped him off that morning and wouldn’t be back until that night, _and_ that he hadn’t eaten all day.

“I dragged him back to meet my family, told them that I made a new friend, and kind of...subtly told my dad that he hadn’t eaten. So we basically kidnapped him and took him out for lunch. I think my parents kind of clued into the fact that I had a crush because they kept giving each other this knowing look the whole way. And Pidge… I don’t know how they were so smart when they were so little, but they _definitely_ noticed, because they kept pulling me down by the shoulder to outright ask me if I liked him. And they weren’t exactly _quiet_ when they whispered, either. It scared me half to death every time they did it because I thought for _sure_ he was going to hear it, but...he seemed too focused on asking my dad questions about astronomy to notice. Turns out, he was _definitely_ as much of a nerd as I thought. Which was a _huge_ relief.

“We spent the rest of the day together, even after we ate. And he was there when I spent the rest of my money to get the Killbot Phantasm poster that’s still hanging up in my room. What he didn’t realize, or at least what I don’t _think_ he realized, was that it wasn’t just a poster to me. Sure, I loved Killbot Phantasm. Always did, always will. But it was more than that. I got that poster to immortalize what I thought was going to be the best day of my life. Little did I know...that was only the beginning. He found me at school the next day, and… Well… I guess that’s a different story.”

Matt sniffed particularly loudly, and it shook Shiro back into the present, out of teary memories that were as much his own as they were Matt’s.

“This...was just supposed to be the story of how I _met_ the guy.” Matt rubbed his wet face with the short sleeve of his t-shirt. “Everything that happened afterward would take a lifetime to tell, but…” He laughed bitterly and looked up at the sky. “I guess that doesn’t matter, because you already _know_ that story. You just didn’t see it all in context until now.”

And Shiro realized, very suddenly, that he _did_ have context, context to so many things Matt had said or done that hadn’t made sense until that very moment.

_“My genius artist. He can make my dreams real, but he can’t drink water without drowning.”_

_“I… I don’t know, I guess I just wanted to see your face.”_

_“Yeah, but I mean, you and Allura don’t have anything to worry about. ...You’re perfect for each other.”_

_“You sure you weren’t just keeping it secret so I wouldn’t get my hopes up? You know, considering the great Takashi Shirogane is single again.”_

_“I didn’t want… I was afraid that there was a reason why you weren’t telling me in particular. Maybe I did something, or—”_

_“Space? Is that what you call it?”_

_“Shiro, I’m too weak for this. If you make me blush right now, I could die.”_

_“If I go weak in the knees from looking too deeply into your dark, soulful eyes, it’s up to you and your big, strong arms to catch me.”_

_“Yeah, well... I love you, too. More than you’ll probably ever understand.”_

It all made sense in retrospect. So much sense that Shiro felt like kicking himself in the face for being too stupid to put it all together.

But it didn’t matter that he didn’t understand before. All that mattered was that he did something with the information once he had it.

And Shiro definitely planned on doing something with that information.

He stood from his chair, and Matt, without making even a split second of eye contact, dropped his face onto the table and covered his head with his arm.

Shiro wore a bittersweet smile on his way around the table. Matt was terrified. It wasn’t hard to recognize when Shiro himself had been so scared for so long. But he wouldn’t be scared for long. Hopefully.

“Matt…” Shiro kneeled beside Matt’s chair and set a hand on his knee.

“Don’t.” Matt sniffled. “You don’t have to... _let me down gently._ I _know,_ all right? I get it. I just didn’t want you to figure it out on your own. I wanted you to hear it from me.”

Shiro shook his head and reached for Matt’s elbow. “Matt, look at me.”

Matt took a deep, shaking breath and slowly, cautiously, peeked out from over his arm. His eyes were already so red.

Shiro ran his hand down Matt’s arm, from his elbow to his wrist, then did the same with Matt’s other arm. His thumbs ran over the backs of Matt’s hands, drawing circles.

“You know me, right?” he asked quietly. “So you know I always at least try to take everyone’s feelings into account before I do anything.”

“...Of course I do,” murmured Matt. Shiro could still hear it in his voice, that shuddering middle point between fear and defeat.

“And you know I would do anything... _anything_...to avoid hurting you, right?” He raised his eyes from Matt’s hands to his eyes, only for those eyes to disappear behind already-puffy eyelids. “And that includes indirectly, like something that might make you happy for a second but hurt worse later on. Right?”

Matt nodded silently.

“Okay, so…” Shiro squeezed Matt’s hands. “Keeping that in mind… I’m about to ask you something kind of weird. And you’re going to have to trust me instead of asking questions, because I know if I let you, I know you’re going to overthink this, and that’s the last thing I want you to do right now. Sound good?”

Matt warily opened his eyes again, and he met Shiro’s gaze, confused and curious and still utterly terrified.

“Okay.” Shiro took a deep breath. Honestly, he was scared, too. Just a different kind of scared. A “this is going to change everything” kind of scared. But it was a good change. One he’d wanted for a long, long time. “...Can I kiss you?”

Matt’s lips parted. His eyes widened. He blinked, and the tears on his lashes caught the city lights. “Wh… What?”

“That’s a question,” said Shiro, smiling nervously. “I know you heard me. You can still say no, Matt. If you think there’s even a chance you could get hurt because of this, tell me no, and we’ll talk about it. But I know how smart you are. I know you know the answer to every single question that’s flying through your genius brain right now. I know that asking would just be a formality to you. If I let you ask all the questions you want to, we’d be here all night, double-checking, just in case you’re wrong, even though you never are.” He squeezed Matt’s hands, and a soft, shuddering breath fell from Matt’s lips. “You know there aren’t many reasons I’d ask that question. I _know_ that gave you all the context you need, just like your story gave _me_ all the context _I_ need. So I’m going to ask you again… _Can I kiss you?_ ”

Matt’s knee began to bounce. He swallowed hard. He closed his eyes. He licked his lips. And he whispered, “...Okay.”

“‘Okay’?” echoed Shiro warily. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes,” said Matt, his voice cracking. “It’s...definitely...a yes.”

“Okay,” whispered Shiro, and he raised one hand off Matt’s to cup his jaw, to guide him down, to pull him into a kiss.

It was soft. The softest thing Shiro had ever felt. Not like Allura’s, which had always been warm and firm and confident. Kissing Matt was as far from that as Shiro could imagine, exciting in an entirely new way. He was so gentle and unsure, and while Shiro hoped that lack of confidence would fade over time, he got the feeling that Matt’s gentle kisses were something that—Shiro hoped—he would come to know as a part of who Matt was.

Shiro ran his thumb along Matt’s jaw, and he began to pull away, only for Matt to chase his lips and coax him into another kiss. Shiro’s chest swelled and he smiled against Matt’s lips, but he needed to break the contact just for a moment, just long enough to whisper something.

Matt got the chance first.

“I love you,” he whispered, breathless, almost begging, his eyes still closed. “I’ve loved you so much for so long—”

“I know,” whispered Shiro, pressing his lips to what was left of the tears on Matt’s cheeks. “I know that now. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. It would have made loving _you_ so much easier.”

“How…” Matt’s eyes fluttered open and he pulled back. “How long…?”

Shiro smiled a crooked, nervous smile. “...High school?”

“Seriously?” Matt laughed weakly. “We… We went to _prom_ together.”

“I know,” said Shiro.

“How did we not—?”

“No idea.” Shiro leaned up and captured Matt’s lips again, before he could ask another question.

And while Matt reciprocated the kiss easily, it wasn’t long before another question pulled them apart.

And then another.

And then another.

For what must have been hours, they kissed, and they talked, and they laughed at themselves until Matt had nothing to be scared of anymore, until the ache that had been burning in Shiro’s chest for too many years mended, until everything about Allura and Sam and Keith and Pidge, every tangential detail about every secret was out in the open. Until everything made more sense than it had in a long time.

And when they finally, finally turned in for the night, and Shiro had Matt tight against his chest where he could lose himself in the scent of Matt’s hair, he had one more question.

“Hey,” he whispered, tired, but happy.

“Hey,” Matt whispered back, draping his hand over the one Shiro had across his waist.

“What do you think about moving in with me?”

Matt’s shoulders tensed, and he turned in Shiro’s arms to look at him through the dark hotel room. “That’s...kind of soon, isn’t it?”

“I would have asked you a long time ago,” said Shiro. “Just as a friend. The only thing that kept me from asking was...that pretty big secret I’d been keeping from you until a couple of hours ago.”

“It’s a little different now, though,” said Matt.

“Is it?” asked Shiro. “We already know everything about each other. We’ve slept at each other’s houses, in each other’s beds, more times than I can count. I know what you’re like when you’re sick and what you look like when you wake up in the morning. It’s a two-bedroom apartment, Matt. I’ve been planning this for a while. Just because one of the bedrooms is an office now doesn’t mean we can’t turn it back into a bedroom. You can have your own space. I just…” He tucked a lock of hair behind Matt’s ear. “I want you there. I always have.”

A contemplative silence hung in the air for a moment, just a moment, before Matt whispered his response.

“I’ll think about it,” he whispered.

“Okay,” said Shiro. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“Okay,” said Matt.

“And it’s an open offer,” said Shiro. “If you decide you’d rather wait, you can change your mind any time.”

“All right,” said Matt. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Okay,” said Shiro.

“ _Guys,_ ” came Keith’s groggy voice from the bed behind Shiro’s back. “I’m _really happy for you,_ but it’s almost _four in the morning._ ”

“Oops.” Shiro felt Matt quiver with laughter in his arms, against his chest. “Sorry, Keith.”

Shiro smiled fondly and pulled Matt closer to him, close enough to press a kiss to his forehead. “Good night,” he whispered.

Matt responded in kind with a kiss to Shiro’s nose. “Good night.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAH AO3 FINALLY LET ME UPLOAD THE CHAPTER IT'S BEEN DOWN FOR A WHILE THANK GOODNESS


	32. Objectives

“I am Klaizap, bravest of our warriors!”

Matt looked through the corner of his eye at Shiro and smirked. Of course he was already starting to sketch something.

“All right, Klaizap.” Matt meshed his fingers together and rested his chin where they joined. “Tell me more about yourself.”

The acne-scarred boy tugged at the belt of his clearly handmade trousers and squared his shoulders. Even if Rolo hadn’t told Matt that he’d been found at a renaissance fair, Matt got the feeling he would have been able to guess.

“Klaizap lives among Klaizap’s village of halfling-like creatures—”

Shiro hummed thoughtfully and began to erase parts of his sketch.

“—protecting Klaizap’s people from any threat that might stumble upon our humble dwellings.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “Does Klaizap speak in the third person?”

“Klaizap speaks how Klaizap speaks,” said their costumed visitor, adjusting his glasses.

“I like it,” said Matt, taking a note down. He glanced through the corner of his eye and his smirk widened into a grin at what he saw taking form in Shiro’s sketchbook.

“So, Klaizap…” continued Matt, lifting his eyes from Shiro’s drawing. “There aren’t exactly  _halflings_  in Altea, but there  _are_  Arusians.”

“Klaizap” crossed his arms and nodded. “What do these ‘Arusians’ look like?”

“Like this,” said Shiro, turning his sketchbook around and showing their visitor the rough drawing he’d made of what he might look like as an Arusian, even down to the same outfit the boy was wearing, albeit one that had been cleaned up a little and had his yellow shirt replaced with a bare yellow belly.

“Klaizap” leaned forward to inspect the drawing, and Matt watched his eyes light up.

“This…” said the boy, standing straight again, “...is acceptable.”

 

* * *

 

Keith swore he was going to lose his mind.

The grid of colorful runes stared at him like a demon summoned with the specific purpose of confusing him.

He touched one of the purple runes, the one shaped like a curved lightning bolt, with two fingers.

Its image glittered to life above the rest of the runes, turned a brilliant blue, then vanished, and the blue rune above the purple one Keith had touched began to glow.

Keith touched the blue rune. It appeared above the others, like the purple one before it, but rather than changing color, it vanished, and a green, skull-like rune appeared in its place. The matching rune on the grid lit up, but only for a moment before a yellow skull appeared above the grid.

Then all three of Keith’s illuminated skull runes went out and the yellow skull was replaced by a yellow  _triangular_  rune that quickly vanished.

“What?!”

Keith threw out his hands and stifled a frustrated scream in the back of his throat. No small part of him wanted to reach past the puzzle and punch the stone doors behind it to see if they would just break open, but before he could even ball either of his hands into a fist, the soft chime of an incoming message brought his temper back down.

With a heavy sigh, Keith opened his inbox.

╔═════════════════════════════════════════════╗

ｈｅｙ ｂｕｄｄｙ ｗｈｅｒｅ ｒ ｕ

－－ＴｈｅＴａｉｌｏｒ

╚═════════════════════════════════════════════╝

Keith ran a hand through his hair, strands snagging on the cut-off fingers of his gloves. Lance was online. Keith must have spent more time on the puzzle than he realized.

With a shake of his head, Keith typed a quick set of directions before resuming his clueless attempts at the puzzle.

By the time Keith heard footsteps echo down the stone catacombs, he’d all but forgotten about his brief conversation with Lance, too invested in the puzzle, and instinctively summoned his Bayard.

“Cool your jets, Keith!” Lance came into the dim light of the colorful runes, hands raised in surrender. “It’s just me!”

Keith sighed and let his Bayard disappear from his hand again. “Sorry,” he grumbled. “I’m just a little on edge.”

“Why?” asked Lance, drawing nearer. “Were you attacked or something?”

“I think my brain was,” grumbled Keith, turning toward the puzzle again.

“ _Ahhh,_ ” said Lance, taking a comfortable position next to Keith and draping an arm over his shoulder. “I get you. How long have you been going at it?”

“I…” Keith frowned. “I don’t know. I lost track of time. I meant to meet you and Coran for tea, but…”

“Don’t sweat it,” said Lance, gesturing casually with the same arm on Keith’s shoulder, his eyes on the puzzle. “So what are you trying to solve here?”

“I wish I knew,” said Keith. “I think if I understood what I was supposed to be doing, this would be a lot easier, but that’s just it. I don’t have a clue.” He met Lance’s eyes. “Maybe you can figure it out.”

Lance closed his eyes and raised his eyebrows, a smug smile on his face. “I don’t want to brag, but I  _am_  pretty good at puzzles.” He opened his eyes and looked at the grid. “Give me a rundown of what you know so far.”

“I think I’m supposed to light up all the runes, but I have no idea what causes them to light up in the first place.”

Lance leaned into Keith a little more. Not a heavy weight, but a comfortable one. “Run me through a few rounds.”

Keith did. He touched runes, sighed when they lit up, growled when they went out, and kept repeating until—

“I think I’ve got it,” said Lance.

There was no limit to how relieved Keith was to hear those words. “What is it?”

To Keith’s surprise, Lance grimaced. “Maybe I should just… I mean, if I tell you, you’re probably going to feel  _really_  stupid. You’ve been at this for a while.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “If I don’t get to know what I was supposed to be doing, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“ _Okay_ ,” said Lance, unconvinced. “If you  _really want to know…_ ”

“Just  _tell me,_ ” growled Keith.

Lance smirked. “It’s Go Fish.”

Keith knitted his brow and turned toward Lance, as confused as he was skeptical.

“I’m serious!” said Lance. “Watch.”

He cleared his throat and raised his hand to poke Keith’s illuminated red skull rune.

“Got any weird skull things?”

The red skull appeared at the top of the grid, then two more skulls, the purple and blue ones, lit up on either side of the red.

“ _Yes, I do,_ ” said Lance, speaking in a low, dramatic voice Keith presumed was supposed to be the door in front of them.

“How about these crazy-looking L-shaped thingies?” Lance touched a green, angular symbol. It appeared at the top of the grid like the red skull, but no more of those symbols illuminated like the skull runes before. Instead, it was replaced by one of the triangular symbols in gold.

“ _Go Fish,_ ” said Lance in his door voice as the same triangular symbol lit up on the grid.

“Oh, my god,” muttered Keith, stunned. Then it hit him how long he’d been suffering just for the solution to be a nigh-universal childhood experience and he hid his face behind his hand. “ _Oh,_  my  _god._ ” Lance was right. He felt  _very_  stupid.

“Hey, man, it’s no big deal.” Lance’s voice was playful, clearly amused, but warm and free of judgment. “We can’t all be geniuses all the time. Good news is this means we don’t have to light up  _all_  the runes, just more than the ‘other player’.”

Keith slowly lowered his hand and he watched Lance run through a few more rounds in silence.

“...You know, I used to think you were stupid.”

Lance scoffed. “Thanks,  _Keith—_  Wait, used to?” He dropped his hand from the puzzle and met Keith’s eyes, his own wide and brilliantly colorful, reflecting the rows of color from the glowing puzzle. “Does that mean you don’t anymore?”

“Well,  _yeah_ ,” said Keith. “What else would it mean?”

Lance raised his eyebrows and he cleared his throat. “Sorry, I just, uh…” He cleared his throat a second time and turned back to the puzzle. “I don’t know, I guess it’s because my two best friends are an engineer and a programmer, but, uh… I’m...not used to people  _not_  thinking I’m stupid.”

Keith frowned at the floor. Last time he checked, he wasn’t an engineer or a programmer, which meant Lance didn’t consider him one of his best friends, which...Keith couldn’t lie...did hurt. But this wasn’t about him.

“If they’re really your friends, I doubt they think you’re stupid.”

Lance laughed dismissively. “Oh, they  _definitely_  think I’m stupid. They don’t say it out loud, but there’s this  _look_  they give each other sometimes, and I…” Keith lifted his head and found Lance frowning. “I know what it means.” He sniffed and shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t over Keith’s. “But, hey, I’ve got strengths, too, just my brain isn’t one of them.”

Keith crossed his arms. “Well… I’m going to have to disagree.” He smiled. “I actually think you’re really smart.”

Lance froze, and he looked at Keith with wide eyes. He dropped his arm from Keith’s shoulder and took a step back. “...You do?”

“Yeah.” Keith angled himself toward Lance, still smiling. “I do. I wouldn’t have been able to figure this puzzle out on my own. Or the one with the Sand Bird.” He shrugged. “You’re smart.”

Lance’s lips parted just enough for Keith to see a sliver of white teeth and he pushed a hand through his hair.

“...I think the only other person to ever call me ‘smart’ is my  _mom._ ”

Keith’s smile widened. “Well, maybe that’s because your mom knows you better than anyone else does.”

Lance’s smile mirrored his own, quietly pleased, just for a second before the puzzle’s turn ended, their cards were counted up, and the door opened, flooding the catacombs with bright light.

 

* * *

 

Shay screamed in surprise.

Hunk clapped his hands over his ears.

The Celestial Roe slinked back from the point in the wall it had just rammed into, dripping black residue wherever it walked.

“Well…” said Shay slowly, “I believe we have found our way out.”

“Yeah,” said Hunk. “No idea if that’s how we’re  _supposed_  to do it, but…”

Shay giggled “I have doubts that it is.” She shook her head and reached for Hunk’s hand, her sharp, stony fingers sending sparks up Hunk’s arm and into his heart. “I suppose our friend was handier than at first we thought.”

“I guess,” said Hunk. He wrinkled his nose and sent Shay a grimace. “He’s still stinky, though.”

Shay covered her mouth with her halberd and giggled again. “Yes, he is that.”

The sparks in Hunk’s heart flared to life again, like tiny, incendiary fireworks that set everything they touched alight.

“Come,” said Shay, tugging at Hunk’s hand, leading him through their new passage. “Not many floors left now.”

 

* * *

 

“Well, we wouldn’t want to be together.”

“But we do want to be in the same general vicinity.”

“Perhaps two opposing forces vying for a high position.”

“Or leaders of groups with opposing ideals.”

“Okay, okay, slow down.” Shiro laughed mildly, politely. “Matt, what do you think? Olkarions?”

“Oh, definitely,” said Matt, as eager as ever despite the dozens of interviews they’d gone through that day alone. It was almost cute.

_“Almost”? What am I afraid of? He’s my boyfriend now. I can call him cute._

Shiro felt himself smile.  _Matt_  was his  _boyfriend._  He still hadn’t gotten used to that. He wasn’t sure he ever would.

_I can call him cute all I like. And he is cute._

_He’s_ very _cute._

_He’s_ adorable.

_He’s—_

“ _Hello!_  Earth to Shiro!”

It took Matt tapping on the center of Shiro’s forehead to bring him back to the real world.

“I... “ Shiro’s eyes darted to Ryner and Lubos, then back to Matt. “Uh, sorry. I was...distracted.”

“Well, get  _un-_ distracted,” teased Matt, flicking Shiro in the forehead and earning a quiet “ _Ow._ ” “We’ve got characters to create. Maybe  _Olkarions_  if you’d like to answer any of my questions.”

He leaned in closer, conspiratorially, and added, “I know I’m cute, but seriously, man, focus.”

Shiro felt his cheeks rise at least five degrees in temperature. “How did you know that’s what I was thinking about?”

Matt’s smirk faded for less than a second, then came back full force. “Seriously?  _That’s_ what you were thinking about? I was just joking!” He reached up and ruffled Shiro’s long bangs. “We’ve got time for that  _later._  Right now, I need you to pay attention. Okay?”

“I— Yeah,” said Shiro. “Okay.”

“Okay,” said Matt again, leaning back to turn his attention back to their interview.

Maybe it was Shiro’s imagination, but he swore, when Matt turned toward Ryner again, he looked even happier than he had before.

 

* * *

 

“So, is  _that_ enough?”

The tiny seamstress Arusian flipped through the layers of silk, silently counting, and she lifted her head, grinning. “This should do,” she said cheerfully.

Lance sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to his heart. “ _Oh_ , thank you. You have no idea what I had to go through to get my hands on all this silk. Do you know how hard it is to take down Guardian Moths? Triggering the battle is hard enough, but then they actually  _spawn in_  and—” Lance made an enormous, flamboyant, full-armed gesture. “And they’re huge! And they travel in swarms!  _Swarms!_ ”

The Arusian folded the silk over and set it aside on the countertop. “Do you regret it?”

Lance’s enthusiasm deflated. He folded his arms over his chest. “Well,  _no_. Obviously. But—”

The door opened, and Lance’s heart stopped.

_Oh, quiznak._

“Keith!” Lance put on a big, fake grin and darted in front of the pile of folded silk, blocking it from view. “Hey, buddy! What are you doing here?”

Keith raised an eyebrow, the tiniest of frowns on his lips. “I should be asking you that. I thought you logged off.”

Lance glanced at the window, half-tempted to jump through it. “Yeah. I did. But then I remembered I needed to...buy some…” He racked his brain for the first item of clothing he could think of. Something he didn’t already own. “Slim Trousers! You know, before I fall asleep and forget.”

“Ohh,” breathed the seamstress in what Lance was certain was intended to be a whisper but came out much louder. “I see. You haven’t  _told—_ ”

Lance barely stifled an apprehensive scream and slapped a hand over the Arusian’s mouth, still smiling at Keith like there was nothing odd going on at all.

Keith furrowed his brow. “ _Slim_  Trousers? Why do you need those? They’re made for water.”

Lance’s brain shorted out, but his mouth kept moving. “Uh,  _yeah,_  I  _know_  that. You think I don’t know that?”

Keith narrowed his eyes. He was starting to look suspicious.  _Not good, not good, not good—_  “Why do  _you_  need—”

“B-Blue!” spluttered Lance. “I want to be able to ride Blue!”

His hands moved from the Arusian’s mouth to his own in less than a second.

Lance couldn’t think of a worse thing he could have said.

But Keith seemed to take the bait, so at least one good thing came out of it. He raised his eyebrows and the lines around his eyes softened.

“That...makes sense...” he said slowly, still clearly wary, but much less suspicious than he had been before.

“Right,” said Lance, lowering his hands. “But, uh…” He averted his eyes. “You know, now that I think of it, that’s probably a dumb idea. Totally self-indulgent and just really  _stupid_ , because… Well, you know.” He propped his hands against the counter behind his back and shrugged. “I mean, admittedly, I’ve been making strides with my exposure therapy, but it’ll probably never reach that point, so—”

“What if I help you?”

Lance turned his head toward Keith, eyes wide. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, I mean…” Keith shrugged and crossed his arms, this time averting  _his_  eyes. “I know there’s no magic cure for a phobia, but maybe if you had a friend with you, you’d be more confident about going into deeper water or...something.” He hunched his shoulders. “Because you’d know I’d be there to pull you out if something bad happened.”

Lance could feel his heart melting. He could feel droplets rolling down the sides like it was a cherry popsicle in the sun.

“Keith...”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” mumbled Keith, barely audible, more like he was muttering to himself than talking to Lance. “I just thought…”

There was no stopping the warm smile on Lance’s face. Regardless of what they were talking about or even the fact that Keith had almost discovered something he wasn’t supposed to know about yet, Lance still smiled. It would have been impossible not to, when Keith was being so unusually sweet.

Or...maybe not-so-unusually. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Shocking Lance with how sweet he was. Maybe Keith was only sweet with people he was close to.

“Well…” Lance drummed his fingers against the counter. “I mean, I  _was_  going to do it by myself, but... _maybe_  I could work you into the process somehow.” He sniffed.

Keith met his gaze again, surprised for no more than a second before smiling with all the gossamer joy of someone who’d just been handed a puppy.

Lance wanted to bury his face in his hands. There was no way that was legal.

 

* * *

 

Pidge ran their hands over the bark of the next tree.

And the next.

And the next.

There was a perfect ring of them. A perfect ring of identical trees, evenly spaced. Beyond those trees, the forest seemed to go on for miles, but Pidge was at the end of the map, the borders of the kingdom, and it didn’t make sense for the trees to go on much farther. Doubtless, it was an illusion.

One final puzzle.

All they had to do was solve it and the world would be open to them.

The problem was, Pidge had no idea where to start.

It was like looking at a puzzle box for the first time, before the pieces began to fall in place, when the whole thing just looked like a wooden block. There was always at least a little bit of trial and error to a puzzle like that. Poking and prodding, shaking until something started to rattle, pushing until a piece came undone.

Pidge ran their fingers around the hollow of the tree.

“It probably has something to do with this,” they mused, standing on the tips of their toes to look into the dark hole. “What do you think, Rover?”

Rover fluffed up the feathers on his neck and beeped conversationally.

“Hmm…” Pidge reached inside the hollow carefully and prodded around the inside walls, avoiding the center, just in case something was lurking.

An odd, puttering sound came from deep within the tree, like a sound effect from an old car in a cartoon.

Pidge pulled their hand back, frowning.

“Could be a warning,” they muttered. “Like a rattlesnake’s rattle. Although, I guess it’s impossible to tell without testing it.”

Slow and meticulous, they crept around the tree, eyeing the bark, in case anything seemed off in the pattern. “First things first, though. We should probably see what happens if we go through without figuring out the puzzle.”

With a deep breath contained in their chest, they took a step between two of the trees…

...and they blinked.

When they opened their eyes again, they found themselves in the center of the Olkari Village, right where they’d started their journey.

“...Yeah,” grumbled Pidge, narrowing their eyes. “That’s what I thought would happen.”

 

* * *

 

“So you can make me look like anything in the game.”

“That’s right.”

“Anything at all?”

“Absolutely.”

The mountain of a man, broad-shouldered, barely of a height that didn’t force him to duck when he had entered, thought for a moment, tapping his lips. Then, he smiled.

“What…” he asked in his shockingly deep baritone, “...is the smallest, cutest,  _cuddliest_  species I could possibly be?”

Matt grabbed Shiro by the shoulder and shook him eagerly, positively beaming.

Shiro laughed and began to flip through his sketchbook, searching for his Arusian pages.

 

* * *

 

“Back again, are we? And right on cue.”

Keith shrugged. “You said I was welcome here.”

“Oh, you are,” said Coran, gesturing for Keith to step inside. “You’re very welcome here. I didn’t mean for you to question that. I’m just surprised at how, er...shall we say  _consistent_  you’ve been.”

Keith stepped inside warily. “Uh… Consistent?”

“Well, every fourth morning at exactly seven vargas and fifty doboshes, you show up at my door to wait for Sleeping Beauty to wake up and log in.” Coran closed the door. “And every night, just as the sun begins to set, you return to your own lodgings to sleep, and I  _think_  Lance means to read during that time, because he always returns here with a book, but then he sits down and he just talks my ear off about you until it’s time for  _me_  to nod off—”

“Wh— He does? What does he say?”

Coran smirked.

Keith froze. He didn’t like that look.

“I  _see._ ” Coran twisted the end of his mustache. “Well, that’s  _very_ interesting.”

“What is?”

“Oh, nothing for you to worry about,” said Coran brightly, waving his hand. “Not for the moment, at any rate. Come into the kitchen and sit down. I’ll put the kettle on.”

 

* * *

 

Blue seemed happy. She was swishing back and forth, swirling around in circles, jumping through the air in excited arcs…

At least  _one_  of them was excited.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” asked Keith. “You seem kind of...tense.”

Lance didn’t bother looking at him.  _Tense. Of course I’m tense. Why wouldn’t I be tense? Just facing my biggest fear. Nothing tense about that._

But that’s not what he told Keith.

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“And...you’re sure about the ocean?” asked Keith.

“Yes, I’m sure about the  _ocean,_ ” said Lance, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll take warm waves over cold, still water any day.”

“Okay, then.” Keith took a few steps forward, moving from the corner of Lance’s eye to the center of his attention, ankle-deep in the waves. He was wearing the same clothes Lance had borrowed after the incident with the fire. The same white tunic with the same red trim and the same black leggings and the same sleeves that ended in fingerless gloves.

And Lance had been right that day. It  _definitely_  looked better on Keith.

The good news was that Keith looking  _extra-fine_  in those clothes was probably going to be a helpful distraction.

And the bad news?

If Lance’s heart beat much faster in the water than it did when Keith offered his hand, drowning was going to be the least of Lance’s problems.

“Take your time,” said Keith, far more soothing and calming than he had any right to be. “Only come into the water when you know you’re ready. And…” His eyebrows drew together, and he looked more sincere than Lance could ever recall he’d been. “Remember I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Okay?”

“I  _know,_ ” groaned Lance. “You don’t have to baby me. I know what my limits are.”

“Fine,” said Keith, offering his hand more insistently. “Then  _test_ them.”

Lance looked down at the tide, then back to Keith’s hand.

“...Okay.”

He took a step forward, hand outstretched and trembling. If Keith noticed, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t so much as try to close the gap between his hand and Lance’s.

He’d given Lance full control. Full agency. And if Lance wanted to pull back, he knew he could.

But he had no reason to. Not when Keith gave him all the freedom he needed.

He grabbed onto Keith’s wrist, and only once he had a secure hold did Keith reciprocate with a grip of his own.

His hand was warm. Even through the fabric of his armor.

“Lance.”

Lance looked away from their locked wrists. “What?”

Keith was frowning, but then again, when  _wasn’t_  Keith frowning? “If you want me to let go, all you have to do is let go of  _me._  I’ll take the hint.”

Lance scoffed. “What, are you kidding? I was  _born_ to do this.” He took a step into the water.

The ocean licked his ankles. It rose and it rose, and it fell, and it rose and it rose and Lance  _swore_  it rose higher than it had before, and it fell again, though Lance insisted it had gone down more the time before, and—

_Is the tide coming in? Is it that fast? It’s Altea. Everything’s four times as fast in Altea. That means tide cycles would only be three hours. That’s_ way  _fast. But that’s if the moon revolves around this planet at the same rate it does on Earth, which isn’t guaranteed. What if it revolves around Altea’s planet three times instead of Earth’s two? What if it’s more than that? What if goes around the world once every varga? That’s_ every fifteen minutes.  _I don’t know if I can—_

“ _Lance._ ”

Keith’s hands were on his shoulders. His face was mere inches away.

But more importantly, Lance’s feet were back on dry land.

“What—” Lance pushed Keith away. “What the hell did you pull me back for?! I was fine!”

“No, you weren’t,” said Keith, firm and annoyed.

“Yes, I—”

Keith’s hand was on his cheek.

Lance stopped breathing.

“ _No,_ ” said Keith, even firmer, pulling his hand back to reveal a glistening droplet running down the side of his thumb. “You  _weren’t._ ”

Lance slapped at his face, appalled to find even more tears there.

“I don’t know what that is,” said Lance, crossing his arms and turning away. “Seaspray. Somethin’. I dunno.”

Keith sighed. “Well… Let’s wait for that  _sea spray_  to stop before we try again.”

Lance peered guiltily at him through the corner of his eye, then looked out to the sea again, where Blue waited for him, rising and falling with the waves.

He really  _did_  want to ride her.

 

* * *

 

Hunk hit the wall with the full force of the boss’s paw. It knocked the wind out of him.

Good for someone looking for realism.

Not so good for someone in the heat of battle, though.

Hunk lifted his head, grimacing through the pain, and he saw the boss—some sort of Sphinx-like creature—pounce, teeth bared, claws extended.

Hunk didn’t even have the strength to cover his head. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes and waited for the end, waited to die and wind up all the way back at the village on the first floor with no items.

And then he heard it.

A scream. Angry and ferocious, like the roar of a lion.

“ _No!_ ”

When Hunk opened his eyes again, the sphinx was gone, and Shay stood over him, her great shoulders heaving with every angry breath, halberd gripped tight in her claws.

She grabbed the key that floated down and turned around slowly, eyes wide with concern.

“Hunk, are you okay?”

Hunk tried to form a response, but when his mouth opened to speak, it stayed open, and nothing came out but silence.

Shay offered her hand. “I’m really… Er... I  _apologize_  if my behavior was at all...intimidating.”

“No…” Hunk slowly took the proffered hand and allowed Shay to pull him to his feet. “Actually, I was, uh… Have you...always used contractions?”

Shay’s stony cheeks turned a shade darker under the light from Hunk’s lantern.

“Actually, no,” she said softly. “I am afraid...that the stress got the better of me.”

“If you’re worried about breaking character, you shouldn’t.” Hunk squeezed her hand. “I mean, it’s just us and Stinky down here. What, do you think I’m going to tell on you?”

“I…” Shay withdrew her hand and gripped her halberd close to her chest, seeking comfort. “I should not. You are here to test the game as it is meant to be played. One of Balmera should speak like one of Balmera.”

“Well, uh…” Hunk cleared his throat. “What if Shay spoke like Shay? Just for a little bit.”

One corner of Shay’s mouth quirked up in a tiny smile. “I think, perhaps, Shay the Balmeran should speak like Shay the Balmeran. If, someday, you should meet Shay the human, then you will have that to look forward to.”

 

* * *

 

The flame from Lance’s lantern flickered like the light of his soul. Uncertain, but still bright to the point of being blinding. It illuminated every curve of his face, his cheekbones, his jaw, his brow, with a soft, warm glow. He looked at home with the flames. Like he’d been surrounded by fire his whole life.

“Uh, Keith?”

Keith’s shoulders tensed. “Yeah?”

Lance raised an eyebrow. He smirked, and the chill of the cave sent goosebumps crawling up Keith’s spine. “Is there a reason you’ve been giving me a death glare since we walked in?”

Keith frowned. “Death glare—? I haven’t been giving you a death glare.”

“You kind of have,” said Lance airily, “but I’m starting to figure out that’s just your face.”

Keith reached for his cheek and looked down at his hand, as if he could wipe off his expression and look at it. Did he look angry? Did he have an angry face?

Lance elbowed his arm, like he’d heard Keith’s thoughts. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a good look for you.”

“I don’t think ‘angry’ looks good on  _anyone,_ ” said Keith, his frown deepening.

“Nah, it does on you,” said Lance, whipping around and walking backward. “You’re all  _intense_. It’s pretty s— Whoa!”

“Lance!”

Keith reached out and snatched Lance by the wrist, yanking him away from the edge of the pit he’d nearly stumbled into.

Lance clung to Keith’s arm with one hand and stretched his lantern out toward the gap.

“That was  _not_  there before!” squawked Lance, startled and indignant. “That wasn’t there, right?!”

“No,” said Keith, pulling away from Lance. “It wasn’t.”

He crept to the edge of the pit and peered down into the abyss. He ran his hand along the side of the pit that had appeared in their path, and when his hand met the end of the pit, exactly where Keith’s shadow landed, he raised an eyebrow.

“What do you think?” asked Lance. “Maybe we should take a whole bunch of float potions. Would that do something?”

“Taking more than one float potion won’t do anything except resetting the timer for the buff,” said Keith, standing and dusting off his armor. “Why do you have float potions, anyway?” His hands stilled on his lap and he turned around, frowning skeptically. “Wait, you lit that lantern with fire oil, didn’t you?”

Lance turned his face away and rubbed the back of his head with his free hand. “Oh, you know. Never can tell when having a wide variety of potions on hand will be handy. I mean, I learn from the best.”

He smirked playfully, but Keith saw through it like glass.

“You said you had ‘a whole bunch’ of float potions,” said Keith.

“No, I didn’t,” said Lance, tilting his head back, his smirk broadening. “Just because I offered the idea doesn’t mean I’ve got the potions on me  _right now._  I was just saying we could go back and  _grab_  some.”

“Wh— No, you didn’t,” said Keith, growing impatient. “You totally implied you had them on you. It was in the way you said it.”

“Well, maybe you’re hearing things, Mullet,” said Lance, leaning forward, a hand on his hip.

Keith scanned Lance’s expression, eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”

Lance leaned away, seemingly taken aback by Keith’s confidence. “Wh— No, I’m not.”

"Yes, Lance, you are," said Keith. "I've been around you long enough to know what you're like when you're lying."

Lance scoffed. "Uh, no, I don't think—"

"You overcompensate," said Keith, yanking the lantern out of Lance's hand. "Your confidence is all an act, and the longer you've had to practice that act, the more confident you get." He kneeled by the edge of the dropoff and lowered the lamp over the edge, shining the light past the lip of the cliff. "You'd only play up your confidence this much if you had a lot of time to rehearse in your head. Which means you knew there was a chance I'd ask about all of the potions you have in your inventory. Which means..."

Keith pulled the lantern out of the hole in the ground and set it down beside his knees.

"Which means you're lying."

He looked over his shoulder at Lance, who looked much less confident, having been called out.

"So what is it?" asked Keith. "Do you have a girlfriend in the Merfolk Village or what?"

Lance laughed nervously. "Trust me, if I had a cute mermaid girlfriend, you'd be the first to know."

Keith looked back into the pit. At least that was the truth. "Why's that?"

"Because," said Lance, kneeling on Keith's opposite side and casting a shadow over the pit. "You're one of my best friends."

Keith, who had been staring at Lance's shadow, took several seconds to absorb the words hanging in the air.

"...What?"

"Yeah," said Lance, confident without being overly confident. "You managed to get up to Hunk levels in, like, a couple of months, and I've known him since elementary school. Sharp work, Samurai."

Keith could do nothing but stare. Words were beyond him. Nothing short of patience and sincerity shined back at him through Lance's blue eyes.

"Oh, what?" asked Lance, just the slightest bit nervous. "Like you're so far above me that—"

"No, that wasn't..."

Keith sighed. He wasn't good with words. He had never been. There was no easy way for him to say that he'd been yearning to hear Lance call him his best friend for movements, since that morning in the garden when the world shattered and he thought he was going to lose Lance forever.

So instead, he just capped the flame in Lance's lantern, took Lance by the hand, and pulled him to his feet.

Lance stared...vaguely in his direction, eyes wide, clearly blinded by the darkness Keith could see plainly through, but said nothing to protest the dousing of the light.

Keith pulled him forward, toward what had been a gap only a moment ago, and Lance barely hesitated before following his lead.

"Hey, uh..."

"The floor disappears when it comes in contact with light," said Keith. "I don't know if there was some kind of hint earlier in the cave or if we're just supposed to act on faith, but—"

"But your crazy night vision basically solved it for us," supplied Lance. "Are you ever going to tell me why you can see in the dark?"

"Are you ever going to tell me why you were on the mountain?" countered Keith.

"Touche," said Lance. "Well, to be clear, I do actually plan on telling you. Just not right now."

"When?" Keith tightened his grip on Lance's hand.

"You'll see when it happens," said Lance, squeezing Keith's hand back. "Maybe by then, you'll tell me why you can see in the dark."

Keith smiled. "Keep dreaming."

"Oh, I will," said Lance. "You can quote me on that."

 

* * *

 

Matt pushed the two cards across the table.

Coran—a family friend of Allura’s—raised one of the cards to his eye and inspected it thoroughly. “What’s this?”

“This,” said Matt, scooting to the edge of his chair, “decides your class. The one in your hand represents light and darkness. Think about it like a Monsters and Mana moral compass. Darkness isn’t  _evil_ , it’s just better built for people who work best alone, whereas light works better for people who want to work in groups.”

“Well, that decides that,” said Coran, dropping the card “light” face up, with the golden astronomical symbol for the sun visible rather than the silver moon. “And the other?”

“Melee and magic,” said Matt, shrugging. “Basically just whether you’d rather hit things or throw spells around.”

“Oh!” said Coran, just as chipper. “Well, that’s easy, too.”

He turned that card over to reveal the eight-pointed star, hiding the crossed swords on the other side.

Matt grinned and opened his mouth to speak when Shiro entered, phone in hand.

“My uncle’s in the— Oh.” He stopped short and raised his unoccupied hand to wave. “Sorry, I didn’t realize someone was here already.”

Matt reached across the table and clapped a hand on Coran’s shoulder. “Not just anyone. Say hello to our first healer, and  _that_  means…” His grin widened and he turned toward Coran. “Our first  _true Altean._ ”

“Brilliant,” said Coran, smiling brightly under his ginger mustache. “And...what does that mean, exactly?”

 

* * *

 

Lance felt pathetic. Of course, he supposed that was only to be expected of someone who was thumbing through photos on a near-stranger’s memorial page for someone who may or may not have been in the background.

To Lance’s credit, however, he did find more than a few half-decent pictures.

Group hugs with Keith squished in the middle, candid pictures of him deep in conversation with Matt either across tables or leaned against a motorcycle, games of chicken with Matt balanced on his shoulders…

Keith looked happy. It was clear that he and Matt  _had_  been close, once upon a time. They had too many shared pictures not to be. As many as even Matt and Shiro had, and they were a  _couple_. Lance had trouble believing that something like that could have ended with a fight over bad grades of all things.

And if Keith had been gone for all that time—a whole  _year_ —then he’d been in Altea when Matt had died, and that meant he either learned about it through the same way Coran had or he learned about it through people  _like_  Coran.

That felt wrong. Really wrong. And Lance couldn’t do a thing about it.

But oh how he wished he could.

He thumbed past a picture of Matt and Keith passed out on an air mattress, over a lovey-dovey picture of Matt and Shiro at a beach, and into a close-up selfie Matt had clearly yanked Keith into, judging by the roll of Keith’s eyes and the grudging smile on his face.

Lance longed to reach through the phone and hold his face.

The Keith that Lance knew didn’t smile like he did in all those pictures. Maybe it was the falling out with Matt and Shiro, maybe it was the stress of keeping Altea safe, but his smiles seemed so much rarer than they used to be, judging by the pictures on Matt’s memorial page.

It was good to see him happy, but Lance couldn’t help wondering if he could have been doing more to bring those smiles out in the Keith  _he_  knew.

“Okay, that’s the third time you’ve sighed in the past, like, ten minutes.”

The shoulder Lance was propped up against nudged him, making his whole body bounce. Hunk’s video game pinged, announcing that it was paused, and he set the controller aside to peer at Lance from over his shoulder.

“What’s eating you, buddy?”

Lance turned his phone over to hide the photo of Keith peering at something on Matt’s laptop, craning his neck over the stack of boxes in his arms. Initially, a lie formed on the tip of Lance’s tongue. But just as soon as it began to form, it died. And in its place was a question.

“...Have you ever been in love with anyone?”

Hunk went very red very fast. “Uh… Once. Maybe. K-Kind of hard to— What— Whatsit—  _Why?_ ”

“Well, you already know I haven’t,” said Lance, rolling over and draping an arm over Hunk’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” said Hunk warily. “You always said you were saving yourself for—”

“I know what I said, okay?” Lance screwed his eyes shut and ignored the heat spreading across his cheeks. “That was a long time ago. Like, high school.”

“Yeah, and then you started flirting with everything on two legs to overcompensate for the fact that you’re  _clearly_  still— Wait.” Hunk shifted, and Lance opened his eyes to find him squinting suspiciously. “Wait, hold on a second. Are you asking me this because you’re actually kind of into someone now?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Like,  _seriously_  into someone?”

Lance averted his eyes and shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe? I know I’ve never felt like this about anyone before, but...that’s just the thing. I’ve never  _felt like this_  before. It’s like being colorblind and hearing people talk about the color blue, but never actually seeing it, until one day, you see a new color you’ve never seen before. How are you supposed to know if you’re actually seeing the color blue? It’s not like you can ask someone, ‘Hey, is this blue?’ They can’t see through your eyes, and color isn’t exactly easy to describe without, you know, comparing it to other colors.”

“Okay,” said Hunk, unusually somber. Lance had fully expected teasing, but Hunk really seemed to understand how serious Lance was. “So is this someone you’ve liked for a while, or like…?”

“Is a couple of months a while?” asked Lance, shrugging.

“Not when it comes to being in love with someone,” said Hunk. “Like, how do you even know them well enough to fall in love with them after just a couple months?”

“I don’t know,” said Lance, turning away and letting his head fall back against Hunk’s shoulder to look at the ceiling. “He’s just… He’s smart. Not in the way you and Pidge are, and definitely not when it comes to people, but, like...he notices things that I never would. And he’s nice. One of the nicest people I’ve ever met. And I don’t think he has a clue. Like, everyone who meets him loves him. He’ll bend over backward to help people. And he doesn’t want anything out of it. Not even attention.” Lance frowned and began to pick at the edge of his phone case. “He’s strong and confident and...warm and...funny… I mean, I don’t think he  _means_ to be funny, but he is. Does that make me a bad person?”

He looked over his shoulder and found Hunk watching him thoughtfully.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” said Hunk brightly. “It’s just that I’ve never seen you actually notice more than a pretty face before.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Lance, leaning away and shoving Hunk’s shoulder.

“Look, man, all I’m saying is this is new territory for you.” Hunk shrugged. “And if you’ve never been in love before, and you’ve never been this, you know,  _genuine,_  then maybe...this is what love is for you.”

“Yeah, or maybe I’m not as shallow as you think,” said Lance, scowling. “Maybe  _that’s_  a possibility,  _Hunk._ ”

“Name  _one person_  you’ve ever liked for their personality first and their looks second,” said Hunk, mirroring Lance’s scowl. “Who even is it, anyway? Who have you met in the past couple of months that you’ve spent enough time with to even ask yourself this question?” His expression shifted to one of concern. “It’s not... _Shiro,_  is it?”

“What?!” Lance paled. “No, it’s not Shiro! What, you think I’m going to march up to someone who’s  _basically a widower_  and say, ‘Hey, do you want to grab some coffee sometime? I saw this great place on the way to the funeral a few months ago. I’ll bet the coffee is as freshly ground as the  _dirt around Matt’s tree._ ’”

“ _Chill_ ,” said Hunk gently. “I just had to ask.”

Lance sighed emphatically and slumped against Hunk’s shoulder again. “Not that I’m much better off with this guy. Not if he’s straight.”

“ _Ouch._ ” Hunk’s arm came up and wrapped around Lance’s shoulders. “You didn’t mention that part.”

Lance sighed again, this time softer, and lifted his head. “Have you ever liked someone who wasn’t interested in guys.”

“Afraid not, buddy,” said Hunk. “It sounds rough. Especially if you do...more-than-like this guy.”

Lance grumbled submissively. “Whatever. That wasn’t even why I asked. I was just…” He glared at Hunk’s knee. “I want him to be happy. You know? I don’t even care about winding up with him. ...Well, that’s not true. If it happened like that, I’d be over the moon, but it’s different from any other time I’ve ever liked someone. I don’t want to make him happy so he’ll like me. I want to make him happy so...he’ll be happy. That’s it.”

Hunk said nothing.

Lance wasn’t sure what that meant. Nor did he care. He was content to lie there until his phone vibrated in his hand, signaling a new text message.

He looked at the screen.

“Is that the guy?” asked Hunk.

“No…” Lance sat slowly, frowning at the name that flashed back at him. “It’s Shiro.”

 

* * *

 

“And when that happens, I want you to take care of him.”

Shiro pressed his brow into his laced fingers and screwed his eyes shut. “I can be there for him,” he said quietly, “but I’m not you. I can’t be his father.”

“I’m not askin’ you to be his father.” The hospital bed creaked under his uncle’s shifting weight. “I’m askin’ you to take care of him. Keith’s gonna need guidance when I’m gone. And you’re the one person besides me I know would never give up on him.”

Shiro dropped his hands and opened his eyes. “What about Krolia? If we can find her—”

Akira laughed weakly and raised a hand to his chest. “Krolia wasn’t ready to be a part of Keith’s life when he was born, she wasn’t ready ten years ago, and she’s not gonna be ready now.” He met Shiro’s eyes. “Promise me, Takashi. Promise me that when all this is over, Keith’s gonna have somewhere to go.”

Shiro sighed. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and balled his hands into pained fists.

When he had mustered all the determination he could, he met his uncle’s eyes, and he spoke with every ounce of resolve he’d ever had.

“I promise.”

 

* * *

 

The last of the Ulippan Ice Worms hit the ground and vanished with a puff of smoke, and Keith lowered his weapon.

“Lance.” He looked over his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Lance shuddered. Frost still clung to his robes from the last hit he took. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

He didn’t look fine, but Keith had no doubt Lance knew that already, so he kept his mouth shut about it. All he did was set a hand on Lance’s arm and send him a smile.

“Well, you did great,” said Keith. “A lot better than you would have done a month ago. I think those trips to the ocean are starting to pay off.”

“Psh, yeah,” grumbled Lance, hugging himself and glaring at the floor. “I can barely even stand being ankle-deep. I’m sure that helps a  _lot._ ”

Keith reached under his sode and rubbed his shoulder. “Well, we’ve only tried it a few times—”

“More than a few,” grumbled Lance. “And I’m not getting any better. Look at this.” He shook out his arms and flecks of water scattered across the deep red temple walls. “I barely even got grazed and I’m a  _mess._  I shouldn’t be dragging you to the beach every day. It’s not helping, and the more time we waste, that’s more time we’re giving Zarkon to do...whatever it is he’s doing.”

“It’s not a waste of time,” said Keith. “I’m sure it…”

Lance looked at him in an unvoiced plea, like he wanted Keith to have all the answers. Keith didn’t. He never did. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to give Lance everything he had.

“...If Zarkon found out that you wouldn’t follow him underwater, he could use that to his advantage,” said Keith. “This is just like all the crafting items we’ve been collecting and all the mice we’ve been finding. It’s just one more defense we’ll have against Zarkon in a real fight. If helping you with your phobia is a waste of time, then so was the Onyx and so were the Greybird Feathers. And if we’re not making any progress with what we’ve been doing, then maybe we’re going about it the wrong way.”

“So what’s the right way?” asked Lance.

“I don’t know,” said Keith. “But...maybe we should try something different next time.”

“Like what?” Lance stood straighter. There was hope in his eyes, hope that hadn’t been there before.

Keith shrugged. “I’ll think about it. But worrying about it right now isn’t going to help anyone. Let’s finish what we’re here for. All right?”

Lance averted his eyes, then met Keith’s. The hope had dulled somewhat.

“...Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Pidge stumbled and fell backward, surprised by the sudden dislodging of their surroundings. They groaned and sat up, glaring at the ceiling.

“Of course,” they grumbled. “Back at the village. Why not? Ugh,  _dispel._ ”

The color and opacity returned to their hands and feet and they climbed to their full height.

Rover blinked into view in front of their face and landed on their shoulder, loyal as ever, though Pidge got the feeling he was silently judging them.

“Oh, like you have any ideas,” grumbled Pidge. “I thought for sure when I saw those glowing eyes that the trick was to get by unseen.” They yanked open the pouch at their belt and began to dig through their belongings for an idea on how to proceed. “Oh, well. Back to the drawing board, I guess.”

 

* * *

 

The torches at Lance’s back came to life, and the mouse curled up on the podium lifted its head. The fire caught his red eyes and flashed within it.

“Oh, brilliant,” the mouse grumbled, his voice a great deal more masculine than Chulatt’s or Chuchule’s had been. “And what are you two supposed to be, then? Pinky and the Brain?”

Lance crossed his arms. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from a  _mouse_.”

The mouse seemed unimpressed. He stood on his hind legs and scratched behind one of his great ears with one of his front paws. “You might want to avoid irritating me, Pinky. Unless you want me to let Brain in on all your little secrets.”

“Oh, please.” Lance hunched his shoulders and rolled his eyes. “Like you know anything about me.”

“No?” The mouse lowered his paw and sent Lance a sharp glare. “Then what about that lovely box in your pocket? I don’t think you’d want your little friend to know about that.”

Lance screeched, alarmed, and shoved his bag behind his hip, as if that would hide its contents from the seemingly omniscient rodent’s all-knowing eyes. “T-That’s none of your business!”

“Box?” echoed Keith, frowning curiously. “What box?”

“Nothing!” squeaked Lance. “It’s nothing! It— Later! And you!” He pointed aggressively in the mouse’s direction. “Ixnay on the oxbay!”

“It’s  _Plachu,_ ” corrected the mouse. “In the case you can’t remember that, ‘sir’ will do just fine. Certainly not ‘you’. Not if you want to keep your secrets intact.”

Lance resisted the urge to roll his eyes, just barely, owing to the fact that Plachu would probably let Keith into something bigger than just the presence of a box in his inventory. “Okay,  _Plachu._  How do you know everything about me?”

“If you’ll  _pay attention..._ ” sighed Plachu. “I don’t know everything about you. Just your secrets. And you certainly have a fair few of them, though not quite so many as Brain there.”

Keith tensed, and Lance threw an arm out in front of him. “His name’s Keith! And stay out of his secrets, you weirdo!”

“Sorry,” said Plachu in a tone that clearly said he wasn’t sorry at all. “Can’t help it. It’s part of my job.”

“Oh, your  _job,_ ” Lance growled. “Somehow I doubt your job has anything to do with being nosy.”

“You can doubt all you like…”

A wall of fire jumped out of the floor between Lance and Keith, forcing Lance back with a gust of hot air.

“...But it won’t do you any good.”

“Lance!” called Keith from the other side of the wall, as frantic and angry as Lance was.

“I’m okay!” called Lance over the crackling roar. “No thanks to this creep.” He sent Plachu a scowl.

“Are you here to participate in the trial or not?” asked Plachu, flicking his tail.

“Give me your best shot,” growled Lance. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner Keith and I can leave.”

Two pillars of flame shot up from the ground at the far end of the room, and a door opened between them, leading into an unlit room.

Plachu scaled down his podium and climbed up Lance’s robes onto his shoulder.

“Oh, trust me,” said Plachu, “my best shot is exactly what you’ll get.”

 

* * *

 

Matt shook Plaxum’s hand firmly. “It’s going to be so great to have you on the project. I can’t wait until you see the finished product.”

“It’s going to be incredible!” said Blumfump. “I can already tell!”

Swirn crossed her arms. “As long as we’re together. Don’t go splitting us up to different servers or something.”

“I won’t,” assured Matt. “I promise.”

“Thank you so much for having us on the project, Matt,” said Plaxum, earnest in every syllable. “I’m excited to be part of something that’s going to change the world as we know it.”

“Here’s hoping I don’t let you down.”

Matt shook Swirn’s hand, then Blumfump’s, and he wished them both well before closing the door, locking it, and making his way to the hallway.

He knocked on his and Shiro’s shared bedroom door, and rather than receiving a spoken response, the door opened, revealing a disheveled-looking Shiro.

Shiro silently closed the door behind himself, then beckoned Matt to the kitchen.

“He’s finally sleeping,” said Shiro quietly. “Probably for the first time all week.”

“Well, his dad’s never been this sick before,” said Matt, taking a seat at the bar in the kitchen. “It makes sense that he’d be kept up by it.”

Shiro sighed and took a seat beside Matt at the table.

Matt reached for his hand.

Shiro took it.

 

* * *

 

Metal bars shot up from the floor and stabbed into the top of the doorway, blocking off Lance’s exit.

“Really?” Lance raised an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“Part of it,” said Plachu, crawling behind Lance’s neck from his right shoulder to his left. “The other part is  _that._ ”

Lance turned around.

Keith stood behind him, staring at the ground, his face obscured by his bangs.

“Okay, I don’t trust that,” said Lance, arming himself with his bow. “Not for a second. I’ve played enough horror games to know where this is going.”

He nocked an arrow.

The thing that looked like Keith lifted his head.

A pair of wide, glowing eyes scowled at Lance. They jittered and sparked in a colorful, staticky pattern, like the sky did the day of the earthquake.

“See?!” Lance took a step back, his bow aimed at Keith’s head. “I knew it! I freaking knew it! When a video game character won’t show you their face, it’s a bad sign!”

He pulled back the bowstring, and just as Lance was about to loose the arrow, a loud, firm thought rang through his head.

_But that’s_ Keith _._

His hand slipped, and the arrow flew right past “Keith’s” ear.

The thing that looked like Keith drew his knife. It elongated into the sword Keith had been using on the boat, which Keith’s doppelganger turned on Lance.

Lance threw up his bow and used it as a makeshift shield.

Keith pushed into him, forcing him to bend backward. With their faces so close, it was impossible to miss the fangs, the faintest discoloration of his face.

“What are you doing?!” Plachu’s voice sounded genuinely confused in Lance’s ear. “You’re already aware that isn’t the Keith you know! It’s just a double! A copy!”

Lance’s arms shook under the weight of the doppelganger’s attack. “It’s still Keith!”

“No, it isn’t!” Plachu pulled at Lance’s ear. “You have to fight him!”

Lance clenched his teeth and closed his eyes. “No…” His feet dug into the tile floor. “...I…” He gripped his bow. “...don’t!”

He pushed the copy back and let his bow fall to the floor.

“Keith.”

The doppelganger’s sword turned back into a knife, the same knife Lance had checked his hair in, the same one he’d found in the snow, the same one he’d used to free Plaxum and Blumfump and Swirn and Keith himself on the lake. Lance had never thought a knife could feel like home, but it did.

“Keith, I’m not going to hurt you.” Lance held out his hands, palm out, the universal sign for peace.

The copy gripped his knife by the handle, but he made no move to attack. He stared Lance down, panting, shoulders rising with every labored breath, but the most his did was glare.

“I don’t care if you’re not the real Keith,” said Lance. “You’re still  _a_  Keith. And I’m never going to hurt you. I can’t look into those eyes and try to hurt the person behind them, weird and glitchy or not.”

Gradually, the copy’s breathing began to slow, began to calm, and he stood up straight, dropping his arms to his side.

Plachu sighed. “You are a very strange person.”

Fire erupted from the copy and burned him away in a single breath.

“You know, the aim was for you to actually defeat him,” said Plachu. “It wasn’t supposed to be a test.”

“I know,” said Lance.

“And you were willing to lose?” asked Plachu. “Just to prove a point? Just for the sake of being a pacifist? What made you think that you could convince something without a mind or a soul to drop his weapon?”

“I didn’t,” said Lance, staring at the soot stain on the floor where the copy had just been.

Plachu sighed. “Blimey, you  _are_  far gone.” He climbed to his back feet. “Well. Unconventional victory or not, you did win a new subtype of magic. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Lance took a deep breath.

“Trust me. I do.”

 

* * *

 

Shiro wasn’t sure how what should have been an ordinary interview had turned into a party, but he wasn’t complaining. Anything to get his mind off his uncle was a welcome distraction.

“Maybe if Kolivan wasn’t such a stick in the mud—”

“Stick in the mud? Did you just call our  _leader_  a  _stick in the mud?_ ”

“Hey, he’s not our leader until the game actually starts.”

A nudge to Shiro’s arm grabbed his attention and he turned his head.

“Your teachers are actually pretty cool,” said Keith, more life in his eyes than Shiro had seen in days.

“Oh,  _really?_ ” Matt appeared out of what seemed like nowhere and draped an arm over Keith’s shoulder. “Well, if you wanted to make a character, I  _could_  make you part of the Daibazaal royal guard. Then you’d get to hang out with them all the time.”

Keith laughed and pushed Matt’s arm off. “I told you, I’m not joining.”

“Aww, come on,” said Thace, his eyes alight. “It’d be fun. A whole new world with completely different opportunities.”

Keith shook his head, a surprisingly genuine smile on his lips. “With all due respect, Professor, it’s not for me. I’m not much of an actor.”

“Oh, psh,” said Matt, nudging Keith in the side. “It’ll barely even be acting once you’re in there. It’ll be your life. You’ll be living it. And you’ll have, like, over a year to develop a backstory naturally. It’s not as tough as you’re making it out to be.”

“Keith, we’d love to have you,” said Shiro, resting a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “It would be great to have you participate in something Matt, Allura, and I have all put our hearts into. It feels a little weird, knowing your name won’t be in the credits with the rest of us. But if you don’t want to get involved, no one is going to force you.”

“Correction,” said Matt. “ _Shiro_  won’t force you, but  _I’m_  not giving up until you sign on.”

“You’ll have to give up eventually,” said Keith, his smile shrinking. “You’ll have to release the game sooner or later.”

“Oh, Keith,” said Matt sweetly. “My dear, naive, gaming-illiterate Keith. Haven’t you ever heard of an expansion?”

“Aw, leave the kid alone, Holt,” said Antok, cheerful and sympathetic.

Matt latched onto Keith’s shoulders like a sloth. “Never!”

 

* * *

 

If anyone asked, Keith wasn’t pacing. He was just waiting.

The sand shifted beneath his feet with every step.

Lance had been acting strange since that day in the dungeon. Too serious. Keith wasn’t sure if he’d said the wrong thing when Lance had looked to him for comfort or whether it had been something else.

But whatever it was, Keith intended to make it right.

Lance appeared on the sandbar with a flash of pink, and Keith stopped pacing.

“Oh, great,” deadpanned Lance. “A shoal. That’s going to make a difference.”

“Look, I’m trying,” said Keith. “The least you can do is give it the benefit of the doubt.”

“ _Fine._ ” Lance sat where he stood and leaned his cheek into his hand. “So what am I supposed to do? Just look at the water?”

“Well…” Keith walked around him. “That’s part of it.”

“And what’s the other part?”

Keith took a seat behind Lance and pressed their backs together, providing a comforting presence without distracting Lance from the waves. “The other part is figuring out why you’re scared.”

“I  _know_  why I’m  _scared,_ ” said Lance. “It’s because I fell in a freezing river when I was a kid and didn’t think I was getting out.”

“That’s just where the fear  _started,_ ” said Keith. “It doesn’t explain why you’re scared  _now._ ”

“I’m scared  _now_  because I know what it’s like and I don’t want it to happen again,” said Lance, pushing at Keith’s back with his own. “You’d be scared, too.”

“But you’re not just scared of getting stuck in cold water,” said Keith, shoving back against Lance. “This water’s warm and shallow, and if you did somehow fall in deeper water, either I’d pull you out or Blue would.” He looked over his shoulder. “And you’re not good with snow or rain, either. It’s not like you’re going to drown in rain.”

“What are you trying to say?” growled Lance. “What, you don’t think I’m actually scared of water? You think it’s something else that’s, like,  _represented_ by water in my brain? Because that’s  _really—_ ”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Lance.” Keith elbowed Lance’s side. Lance elbowed him back and he rolled his eyes. “I’m saying there’s something  _about_  the water you’re scared of. Maybe more than one thing. And once we rationalize that, maybe actual exposure to the water will do something instead of giving you more reasons to be scared.”

Lance fell silent.

Neither of them said anything for ten minutes. Twenty.

Keith closed his eyes and listened to the waves. He could feel the warmth of Lance’s back against his own. He hoped it was as comforting for Lance as it was for him.

“The first time I realized I was scared of the water was a pool party a few months after the whole river fiasco,” said Lance, giving no preamble. “I used to  _love_  swimming. I was so excited to go, but when I got there…”

Keith crossed his arms over his knees, keeping himself quiet, even when Lance trailed back into silence. He didn’t want to rush him.

“...There were a lot of kids,” Lance said at last. “Getting into water fights, shoving each other, dunking each other under the water… Normally, I would have been right there with them. But then I started imagining getting trapped under everyone and not being able to reach the surface because there were too many kids, and I just...avoided the water. I wouldn’t even go up to the edge. And  _then?_ ” Lance sat up straight, nearly causing Keith to fall with his support yanked out from under him. “Then this kid with stupid hair shows up out of nowhere and starts taunting me and he just— He threw me into the pool!”

Keith let loose a heated sigh.

“Oh, yeah,” growled Lance, thankfully sounding more angry than scared. “Just threw me right into the water. And…” His voice went quiet. “I don’t know, everything after that is fuzzy. Like...I know what happened, but it’s like a memory of a memory. Like someone had to tell me. I started thrashing and some grownup pulled me out and then I started  _crying_  and…” He shrugged and went slack against Keith again. “That’s when I met Hunk.”

“Your roommate?” asked Keith.

“Yep,” said Lance. “Roommate, but he was my best friend first. Kind of hard not to bond with someone when they help you through your first panic attack. He’s had anxiety for basically his whole life, so he knew what to do when no one else even cared, and...bam. Best friends ever since.”

Keith picked at the seam of his sleeve. “...Maybe that’s what you’re scared of,” he offered. “Getting stuck  _in_  the water.”

“Still doesn’t explain the rain thing,” said Lance.

“I mean, it  _can_ ,” said Keith. “Getting caught in the rain or snow without shelter can be dangerous.”

Lance shrugged. “That still doesn’t seem right to me.”

Keith frowned. “Well… What if it’s other people that are the problem?”

Lance turned halfway around and Keith met his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it started the day some kid threw you in the water because you were scared, right?” Keith looked down at the sand. “Lance, do you ever feel like people don’t take your fear of the water seriously?”

“Yeah, all the time,” said Lance. “I hate telling people about it because they never believe it. They always think I’m making it up for attention. Like there’s nothing scary about water, so there’s no way anyone could actually be scared of it.”

“But water can be dangerous,” said Keith, lifting his head. “It can drown people or cause hypothermia—”

“Trust me, you don’t have to tell  _me_  that,” said Lance, shuddering.

“But you’d have to tell other people,” said Keith. “And if you were drowning and called for help and  _no one believed you—_ ”

“Shut up!” snapped Lance, jabbing a finger in Keith’s direction. “Don’t even joke about that!”

Keith raised his eyebrows. His lips parted. It had been a long time since Lance had spoken to him like that. A  _long_  time.

And Lance must have realized as much, because in the next instant, his hand was over his mouth.

“Keith,” he said suddenly, throwing his hand down. “Keith, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“I know,” said Keith. “It’s okay. I forgive you. But… I think we have our answer.”

Lance’s tense shoulders sank. “Okay, so what do we do about that?”

Keith dropped his eyes to the sand.

He didn’t know.

 

* * *

 

“And one more thing,” said Matt, scribbling down a note. “You guys can either keep your real names or pick names for your characters.” He looked up from his notebook. “So what do you guys think?”

“Rax,” said the older of the two, raising an eyebrow.

His younger sister laughed. “Isn’t that the name of your—”

“Yes,” said ‘Rax’ before his sister could finish whatever embarrassing secret she had almost shared with two complete strangers.

Shiro nudged Matt’s knee with his own under the table, and Matt nudged him right back. They both knew what it was like to have younger siblings.

“And what about you?” asked Shiro, gesturing toward the girl with the eraser of his pencil. “Would you rather be called by your own name or something new?”

The girl hummed thoughtfully. “Actually, I think I’m happy just sticking with…”

 

* * *

 

“Shay!” Hunk was already frantically digging through his pack before he’d stopped running. “Look what I found!”

He retrieved a small box of thumb-sized fruits and held it out for Shay to inspect.

“I don’t actually know what they are,” said Hunk, about to burst with excitement, “but I’ve never seen them sold in the market before, so I figured they must be pretty rare in Balmera. I haven’t even tried one yet. I wanted to share them with you.”

Shay brightened. She shined like the sun, reminding Hunk of every reason he hesitated to give Lance a solid “no” when asked if he’d ever been in love.

Maybe Shay was just data, but she wasn’t  _just_  data.

“Those are Tuberfruit!” said Shay, mirroring Hunk’s excitement and covering his hands with her own. “They are rare, but they are worth the wait. Actually…” She plucked one of the fruits out of the box and pressed it to her lips. “Their flavor is kin to that of my favorite Earth fruit.”

“Yeah?” asked Hunk, so deeply hypnotized by Shay he barely even noticed Stinky nudging at his shoulder. “What’s that?”

 

* * *

 

“Strawberries?!” Lance reached around Keith’s shoulder, his fingers groping for Keith’s recent purchase. “Come on, I love strawberries! Share!”

Keith grinned and pushed Lance away by the chest. “Nope. These are all mine.”

“Oh, come on!” Lance laughed and pushed at the hand that kept him back.

“No way! We were just at the stall that sold them. If you wanted some, you could have bought some then.”

“Yeah, before I knew they tasted like strawberries!  _Keith!_ ”

“No.”

“Give it!”

“Make me.”

Lance shoved forward with the full force of his entire weight and knocked them both down into the cobblestone path, sending the Tuberfruit flying in every direction. Dull pain surged through Keith’s back in a shock that knocked 3 HP out of him and would have left some bruising if he’d been in a world where bruising occurred, but that didn’t stop him from laughing, even as Lance reached over him and plucked a fallen fruit off the ground.

He popped it in his mouth and Keith’s laughter was cut short with a groan.

“ _Heaven—_ ”

“You’re gross, you know that?” Keith shoved Lance off himself with a smirk. “Just right off the ground—”

“Okay, first off, this is a game,” said Lance, holding up a finger. “And second, it’s called a  _Tuberfruit._  It probably came  _out_  of the ground.”

“Yeah, but people still  _wash_  them,” said Keith, propping himself up on his elbows.

Lance responded by stealing another of the curved fruit off the ground.

“Hey!” Keith tried to catch Lance’s wrist, but it was too late. He’d already popped the fruit into his mouth.

Keith narrowed his eyes.

Lance stuck out his tongue, which had been dyed a vivid crimson.

“You still could have bought your own,” said Keith, sitting up properly. “We’re not that far from the stall.”

“Yeah,” said Lance, “but food always tastes better stolen.”

He winked and Keith turned his face away.

He was tempted to check his menu, just to make sure he wasn’t suffering from some status ailment.

A half-invested wrestling match over fruit shouldn’t have been enough to make his heart pound the way it was.

 

* * *

 

Pidge was starting to run out of ideas.

Looking away from the illusion did nothing.

Sneaking past the barrier while invisible did nothing.

Turning into a beetle and flying past without touching the ground did nothing.

Trying to knock down one of the many identical trees was completely unsuccessful from the start.

The only idea they had left was enclosed in their right hand.

They looked into the hollows of one of the barrier trees, took a deep breath, held it, and threw the bomb inside.

By the time Pidge had leaped back, pink smoke was already pouring out of the tree.

Rover slapped a wing in the direction of the tree, trying to fan the smelly, sulfuric mist away while Pidge used their hands to cover their mouth and nose.

All they could do was hope whatever was in the tree could smell that.

A pair of bright blue glowing eyes glared through the smoke. An odd puttering sound touched Pidge’s ear.

And something...something began to float out of the hollow.

But they were given no time to process what they were seeing before they were thrown back into Olkarion’s capital.

 

* * *

 

The clouds through the hospital window swirled in the lavender sky above the setting sun. They were wispy and thin. No sign of rain. Strange, for autumn.

“Keith…”

Keith tore his eyes away from the window and turned them on his father, who was smiling at him from the hospital bed.

“Hey.” Keith stood from the windowsill and sat instead in the chair at his father’s bedside. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“I was about to ask you that,” said his father. “You looked pretty deep in thought.”

Keith frowned at his feet. “...Guess I was.”

“Haven’t found him yet, have you?”

Keith lifted his head, eyes wide. It had been ages since he’d brought that up to  _anyone_ , even longer since he’d brought it up to his  _father._  “How did you know what I was thinking about?”

“Keith, you’ve been wearing that look off and on for the past ten years.” His father’s smile shifted, became knowing. “It’s always meant the same thing. I had no reason to think that changed since I wound up here.”

“Well, it hasn’t,” admitted Keith.

“Hard to believe you’re still looking after all this time,” said his father. “Most kids would have forgot in two weeks. Here you are, still stubborn, still searching…” He sighed, and it came out as a wheeze. “If I’d known you’d still be stuck on it ten years later, I never would’ve…”

“I know,” said Keith heavily. He’d long-since stopped being bitter. “I know, Dad.”

 

* * *

 

“You can’t be serious.”

“Actually...I am.”

Lance raised an eyebrow at the makeshift blindfold in Keith’s hands, then at his face. “You know we’re friends, right, Keith? I  _already_ trust you. This isn’t going to do anything.”

“I know,” said Keith. “I kind of...figured that out when you jumped off a cliff for me. But that’s why you’re not the one who’s going to be blindfolded.”

Keith pushed the black scarf he normally wore over his armor into Lance’s hands, then turned around.

“Uhh…”

“Just keep my hair out of the knot.”

Lance sighed and looped the scarf over Keith’s eyes. “Fine, I’ll bite.  _Why_ am I blindfolding you?”

“Because if your fear of water is tied to a fear of not being taken seriously, then it doesn’t matter if you trust me. You need to know that  _I_  trust  _you._ ”

Lance checked the knot to make sure he hadn’t tied Keith’s hair into it and carefully turned Keith around by the shoulders to confirm that he couldn’t peek through the front. “How did you even come up with this?”

“You got a better idea?” asked Keith.

“No,” said Lance, tugging at the bottom of the scarf on either side of Keith’s nose and peering up from underneath to assure himself that there was no way Keith could see anything, even the floor. “I’m just saying you don’t seem like a ‘team building exercise’ kind of guy.”

“I told you I was going to think about it,” said Keith. “I just did what I said I would.”

Lance was glad Keith was blindfolded so he couldn’t see the soft, goofy smile Lance felt on his face. “I thought you were just trying to humor me.”

“That’s exactly why this is important,” said Keith.

As much as Lance hated to admit it, Keith was right. Just knowing the lengths Keith was willing to go to made more of a difference than Lance thought it would.

Besides, the scarf they were using was big and cumbersome and made Keith’s hair stick out wildly in every direction. Lance couldn’t pretend he didn’t love it. He raked his fingers through the unfortunate bumps and curls, trying to fix the natural disaster and only serving to make it worse.

“...What are you doing?” asked Keith, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Trying to tame the wild mullet,” teased Lance. “It’s a  _lot_  more aggressive when it’s removed from its natural habitat.”

Lance waited for the inevitable rebuke, for the indignant “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with my hair!” but it never came.

The only sound Lance heard from Keith was from his breathing.

And once Lance noticed that sound, it was all he heard.

Suddenly everything Lance had been doing, tying and adjusting the blindfold, making Keith’s hair lie flat by running his fingers through it, seemed much more intimate than it had mere seconds before.

Lance became hyperaware of just how close their faces had become, just how vulnerable of a position Keith had put himself in by giving up his sight when he was so used to seeing, even in the dark.

It occurred to Lance that the only thing keeping him from leaning across that paper-thin distance and pressing his lips to Keith’s was his own conscience.

That realization was terrifying.

For all of Lance’s flirting, the shows he put on for other people, the faces he wore to catch the attention of complete strangers, he’d never really wanted to kiss anyone like that. He’d never been so drawn to another person’s lips that he swore he felt physical pain solely from resisting the pull.

It was hard, borderline impossible, to believe that after years and years and years of life and experiences and meeting dozens of kind and beautiful and illustrious people, the one person who had broken through every one of Lance’s barriers and apprehensions was  _Keith._  Someone Lance couldn’t even endure at first.

And at the same time, it couldn’t have made more sense. Though at first Lance’s preoccupation with Keith had come from frustration, it had always been there. It had come and it had never gone away. It had only ever shown Lance how fiercely kind and loyal and truly dazzling Keith was. Something he may have never noticed as a casual observer.

But as someone who hadn’t been able to shake Keith from his head from the moment he met him, to Lance, it couldn’t have been more obvious.

And it couldn’t have been harder to let his hand fall from Keith’s hair, to step back and let Keith—wonderful, brilliant, amazing, otherwise occupied, and almost certainly straight Keith—walk his own path. A path Lance was never supposed to be a part of, though...he couldn’t help being happy to walk it with Keith regardless.

“You, um…” Lance cleared his throat. “You look better now.”

“Okay,” said Keith slowly. “Not...that it matters. We’re the only ones here.”

“...Yeah,” said Lance, rubbing his arm. “Guess we are.”

Silence captured the air while Lance desperately tried to look anywhere but Keith’s lips, which was hard when it was the only part of his face fully visible. He’d been so laser-focused on avoidance, however, that he forgot what he and Keith were supposed to be doing until Keith shrugged.

“Well?”

“Right. Uh, turn one-hundred eighty degrees and start walking. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

 

* * *

 

“Oh! That is  _very_ rare.”

Hunk lifted his head and turned his attention to Shay. “Hm? What is?”

Shay answered by reaching for the wall and tugging at something with all of her strength until it caved and she stumbled backward, only to be caught by Stinky.

Stinky nosed her back onto her feet and she turned around, grinning, clutching something to her chest. She patted Stinky on the nose with one hand. With the other, she held out something that glittered in the light of Hunk’s lantern.

“What is that?” asked Hunk, creeping warily closer, as if he expected it to jump out at him.

“This is a Terrestrial Key,” said Shay. “If you are a level greater than fifty and it bears a quality that is aligned with your class, you may use it to change to one of two adjacent classes. Alternatively, if we are able to find a key bearing a different quality, we would be able to commune with Gyrgan the Kind.”

Hunk held his lantern against the Key. A sparkling star made of glass or crystal gleamed back at him from the center of the stone.

“Okay, so that’s the symbol for Magic, right?” He lifted his head. “That’s not your quality. You’re a warrior. So if you used it, what would happen?”

“That would be called a Creedbreak,” said Shay. “I would return to level one, and I would not have a choice between multiple classes as I would if I had used an adjacent stone, but my statistics would increase exponentially. By reaching level fifty, I would be as strong as if I had used an adjacent stone. It would merely take longer.”

“So, are you gonna use it?” asked Hunk.

Shay frowned at the stone. “For now...I believe we should keep it. In case we encounter a second key. We may yet need the advice of Gyrgan the Kind. And…”

She reached for Hunk’s hand and gave him a warm smile.

“I would rather grow with you than without you.”

 

* * *

 

“Okay,” whispered Lance. “I’m ready.”

Keith’s hands squeezed his own, gentle and reassuring and warm and grounding. “Are you going to open your eyes?”

“No way,” said Lance. “At least not until we’re in the water.”

“Okay,” said Keith, his voice as much a comfort as his hands. “Well, when you do…”

“You’ll be here,” said Lance. “And you’re not going to let me—” His throat tightened around the word. “...Not going to let anything happen. I know.”

Keith tightened his grip around Lance’s hands, striking a balance between Lance’s nerves and the world beyond him, like he was equalizing the pressure. “Do you want me to warn you when we’re getting close?”

Lance barked a bitter laugh. “ _No._  What, do you  _want_  me to freak out? Just...let it happen. I’ll be fine.”

Despite his verbal assurances, Lance wasn’t so sure.

By the sound of Keith’s sigh, he didn’t seem sure, either. But that didn’t stop him, and Lance was grateful for that.

“We’re just going to the very edge of the water. No point in taking on more than you can handle right now.”

“I know.”

“Ready?”

“I already said I was!”

“Are you  _sure—_ ”

“Yes! Just start walking!”

Keith began to walk, and the second his hands tugged on Lance’s, Lance regretted his haste.

With every step, with every square inch of sand that met the sole of Lance’s bare feet, he squeezed Keith’s hands tighter.

“Lance—”

“ _What?!_ ”

Keith took a slow, seething breath. Lance knew he was going to feel guilty later, when he was capable of anything more than fear.

“Green light, yellow light, or red light?” asked Keith, mostly calm, though there was clear impatience at the very edges of his voice, like embers glowing orange at the edge of a burning leaf.

It took Lance a moment to realize what Keith had meant by his question.

“I… I don’t know,  _yellow?_ ” Apprehension, caution. But definitely not a red light. He didn’t want to stop.

“Okay,” said Keith, squeezing Lance’s hands briefly, just enough for some of the tension in Lance’s forearms to ebb away. “You’re doing good.”

“Don’t patronize me,” snapped Lance. “I haven’t even touched the water yet and I’m freaking out! This is the worst it’s ever been!”

“I think you might be more afraid of panicking than you are of the water right now,” said Keith, the fiery edges to his voice cooling and fading to gray. “We talked about it a lot. Maybe we did it too much. You had a lot of time to overthink.”

Lance scoffed. “You don’t know me.”

“Well…” Keith’s grip on Lance’s hands became easier, gentler, and he swept his thumbs over Lance’s knuckles. It didn’t carry the same comforting spark it normally would have. It just felt strange. “I think I know you well enough to know you don’t mean half the things you’re saying right now.”

Keith stopped pulling at his hands.

Lance opened his mouth to demand why, but when the water lapped at his feet, what should have been a word turned into a shuddering gasp.

“It’s okay,” said Keith just as the water began to retreat. “This much water isn’t going to hurt you—”

“It totally can!” snapped Lance. “Do you know how much water it takes to make you lose your footing? Because it’s not much, so...!”

Lance’s breath hitched when the water touched his feet again.

“In a river, maybe not, but we’re not  _in_  a river.” Keith squeezed Lance’s hands. “You don’t have to worry about slick river stones, and the tide isn’t strong enough here to pull you in. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

“But I  _could—_ ”

“But you  _won’t,_ ” said Keith. “Lance, will you just _look_  at me?”

Lance forced his eyes open, embarrassed to find just how much willpower that took.

But when he managed it, he found Keith looking back at him, eyes as sharp as daggers, like always, and yet…

And  _yet._

And yet, Lance noticed something about Keith he never had before.

Somehow, between the hysteria and the panic and the certainty that he was going to drown, Lance noticed Keith’s eyes.

Keith, who was almost always scowling, who had the harshest expressions Lance had ever seen… Somewhere in the depths of his harsh, serious gaze, Lance saw kindness.

For the first time, Lance had read an expression he’d seen as anger, frustration, outright annoyance before...and he saw patience, kindness, understanding. But a steadfast sort of kindness.

And Lance was sure Keith must have been every bit the warrior he was in Altea for his entire life. His eyes were like swords, but in the right situation, a sword was more than welcome. It could protect, defend. It could keep people safe. It all depended on what it was cutting through.

And in that moment, Keith’s eyes cut through Lance’s anxiety like it was paper. They were so intense, nothing could have stood against them, not even the haze in Lance’s mind. When everything else was hazy, foggy, cold, they still burned as bright as a lighthouse in the fog.

Though Lance still flinched when the water licked at his feet, it was hard not to look away.

“You’re safe,” said Keith, quiet, but clear. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you  _are._ ”

Keith was right. Lance didn’t feel safe. Not with the water still sliding over his feet, washing away the sand beneath his soles, wrapping around his ankles.

“The tide’s going out,” reminded Keith. Lance knew he was telling the truth, but that only helped so much. “It’s not cold enough to hurt you that way. Not where we are.” That was true, too. And that helped a little more. “If you... _tripped_  or something, I’d pull you out of the water.” Lance knew that. “And if worse came to worst, you’d just be able to log off. Remember, this is just a game.”

“Horror games are still scary,” said Lance. The quiver in his voice was humiliating.

“I know,” said Keith. “I’m not telling you not to be scared. You can be scared. This is just about proving to yourself there’s no  _reason_  to be scared.”

“Right.” Lance nodded shakily. His mouth felt dry. “Yeah. Cool.”

“Where are you right now?” asked Keith.

Lance laughed sharply. “I know where I  _am,_  Keith. I’m not  _that_  freaked out.”

“I meant  _color-wise,_ ” said Keith, his tone sharp, but not unkind.

“Oh, uh.” Lance cleared his throat. “I think it’s actually green.”

“Green?” Keith cocked an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Lance nodded. “I mean, it’s kind of a yellow-green, but…”

“Do you want to go deeper?” asked Keith.

Lance’s stomach dropped like a stone.

_Deeper._

The word brought with it ideas of dark depths, of being swept away, of rushing and rapids and a surface he couldn’t reach, of ice cold and straining lungs and a numbness that was somehow sharp and aching at the same time.

“Nope,” said Lance. “Big no. No way. Red light.”

“Red—?”

“As in  _I’m out,_ ” snapped Lance. “As in  _screw this!_ As in  _let go of me!_ ” He wrenched his hands from Keith’s.

Keith grabbed his wrists. “ _Wait._ ”

Lance met his eyes again, but he saw nothing of the safety he’d seen before. He had no idea how he could have seen that at all out of someone who was keeping him trapped in the water. “What are you doing?!”

“Proving a point!” snapped Keith.

“What point?! That you’re an asshole?!” Lance pulled against Keith’s hands.

Keith stayed still as a stone. “If you listened to me when I told you to jump off a cliff, you can listen to me now.” His voice was calmer. Gentler. A stark contrast to Lance’s tumultuous mind.

Lance still would have taken the cliff any day.

“What do you want me to do?” he demanded. “What, am I supposed to— Am I supposed to just sit here until freaking out turns into a full-blown panic attack?!”

“If you have a panic attack, we’ll leave,” said Keith, “but the point is to get you through this without having a panic attack  _or_  leaving. The water isn’t the source of danger right now. Your own mind is.”

“Oh, great!” Lance would have thrown his arms into the air if Keith wasn’t holding him still. “That’s way better! It doesn’t matter that I’m in danger, just  _where it’s coming from._  Right.  _Silly me._ ”

“This is a fight, Lance,” said Keith. “Just like everything else we’ve fought in Arus. Just like every monster we’ve ever farmed items from and every boss we’ve ever raided. Just like Drazil. Just like all the Galra we’ve taken down together. If we don’t finish this, we don’t get to move forward.”

His hands slackened around Lance’s wrists.

“I won’t  _make_ you stay,” said Keith calmly, his gaze unbroken. “But the fear is going to stick with you whether you leave or not. The only thing staying changes is whether the next fight is easier or harder.” He hesitated. “It’s like earning experience points.”

Lance’s hands were shaking.

He wanted to run.

Everything inside of his brain was screaming for him to run.

But…

“I better level up from this,” grumbled Lance, reaching for Keith’s hands. “Like...emotionally.”

Keith sighed, and he replaced his steady scowl with a soft smile. Lance dared to hope he was proud.

“Is there anything that helps you when you’re like this?” asked Keith, squeezing Lance’s hands so tight they stopped shaking.

“Talking, I guess,” said Lance, his voice shaking where his hands left off. “But only if it’s a good enough conversation.”

“Okay…” said Keith slowly, his gaze dropping from Lance’s briefly, just long enough for Lance to be able to tell he was searching for a topic.

When he lifted his head, he was smiling again.

“So, you already know mine. What’s  _your_ favorite movie?”

 

* * *

 

Matt squeezed Shiro’s hand under the table, his eyes trained on Honerva as she paced across the floor, sketchbook in hand.

Professor Sincline had already happily accepted the design that Shiro had put together for him. He’d loved every part of it from the dark gray skin to the crimson armor. And the  _cape,_  oh, he’d loved the cape.

But Honerva…

“I’m on the fence,” she said at last, lowering herself onto the couch, tapping her chin with a knuckle, her eyes still on the design for her character, Haggar. “I definitely don’t hate it, but…” She set the sketchbook down on her knees. “I think I want to be a little more corrupt. I want her to look more… Almost like a witch in a fairy tale. I want her to be  _scary,_  not just a little off-putting.” She tapped a finger against her design. “What if she had purple skin? Or a grayish-blue?”

Matt exchanged a glance with Shiro, and it was Shiro who spoke.

“Well, Alteans are intended to be more...human than that.” He set an elbow on the edge of the table. “If she was a non-human color, especially with her white hair, she might be confused for a Galra.”

“I think that’s what I want,” said Honerva, finally looking up. “If Haggar is the emperor’s right hand, then I want it to be a surprise that she isn’t Galra, like he is.” She closed the notebook. “Alteans are shapeshifters, aren’t they? What if Haggar kept her form altered at all times?”

“Huh.” Matt raised his eyebrows. “I kind of like it.”

Shiro shrugged. “Works for me. But if that’s the direction we’re taking, I’ll want some more time to tweak the design. I’m afraid just changing the colors would make it feel unbalanced.”

“If you didn’t say that, I would have been disappointed,” said Honerva, standing from the couch and turning toward the door. “Call me back when you have a better design.”

Matt stood from his own chair. “Are you...leaving?”

“I’m very busy today,” said Honerva. “There’s too much work to be done on Sentry and Gladiator.” Her hand wrapped around the doorknob and she looked over her shoulder, a tense, if polite, smile on her face. “Best of luck on your own project.”

She exited without a further word, closing the door behind her with just short of a slam and leaving a heavy silence in her wake.

Matt looked toward Shiro's direction through the corner of his eye. “That was weird...right?”

Shiro, whose eyes were just as wide as Matt was certain his own were, nodded mutely.

Matt turned his attention back to the closed door. “I thought so.”

 

* * *

 

Scattered stones from the rockslide Lance had protected Keith from tumbled from the icy wall to the floor. The makeshift shield cracked and flaked beneath the weight, but it held, just barely, dying the sunlight that bled through it from heavenly white to an icy blue.

“Keith!” Lance dropped his raised arms and raced to Keith’s side. His knees hit the tile so fast and hard that it caused him to slide until he crashed into Keith’s hip. “Are you okay? How much damage did you take?”

“It barely hit me,” said Keith, raising a hand to his scraped cheek. “I only lost a few hitpoints, thanks to you.”

Lance smiled a smile that landed somewhere between proud and something Keith couldn’t quite place. “Ice magic’s a lot easier now. Maybe someday I’ll actually be able to shove a big ice spear through some creep Galra’s chest without even hesitating.”

“I’d like to see that,” said Keith, mirroring Lance’s smile.

The ice creaked above their heads and they both sent it a cautious glance.

“That’s not going to hold for long,” said Lance, grabbing Keith’s hand and standing from the dilapidated floor. “We should get out of here before it collapses.”

“Good idea,” said Keith, allowing himself to be pulled up. “But, uh…” He looked at the five doorways, each blocked by colorful tapestries. “Which way?”

The ice groaned again.

So did Lance.

“Who cares when the alternative is getting squished?!”

He yanked Keith through the closest doorway, the one farthest to the right with a symmetrical, flowery, red pattern.

And when Lance pushed the tapestry aside and pulled Keith out through the other end, they both froze, stunned, as they realized they were still beneath the barely-contained rockslide. They had simply reappeared on the left side of the room, four doorways away.

“Okay, maybe it does matter!” Lance frantically looked around. “Uh, this one!”

Keith yelped as Lance tugged him through the tapestry to their left—a white one marked with violets—nearly pulling Keith’s arm out of its socket in the process.

With a rustle of fabric, they found themselves exiting the doorway just to the left of the first one they’d entered.

The ice groaned louder. It chipped and splintered, sending huge, veiny cracks spiderwebbing along the underside of the shield.

“Middle!” shouted Keith, half genuinely scared, half laughing from the futility of the situation. “Middle, middle, go!”

He shoved Lance through the black tapestry in the center just in time for the two of them to be safely out of the way when the greatest calamity of a crash occurred just behind them, sending the black tapestry fluttering through the air and several chunks of ice and stone to come rolling through underneath, colliding with their ankles and causing them both to crash into the floor of the ruins in a clumsy heap of arms and legs and laughter.

And there was no shortage of laughter.

Keith covered his face with the arm that wasn’t pinned under Lance, who seemed paralyzed by his own fit of giggles.

“That was so stupid!” managed Keith through peals of laughter.

“I know! It was like a Scooby-Doo chase from an inanimate object!”

“That’s exa— That’s  _exactly_ what it was!”

“How dumb would it have been if we died from  _that?_ ”

“We almost  _did!_ ”

“I know! Why are we laughing?!”

Keith lapsed back into wordless laughter, unable to find the words to explain that it was a different kind of scary from their usual. The kind of scary Altea was  _supposed_ to be. Like a haunted house or a roller coaster.

In all the time Keith had spent unable to leave the world of a game, that was the first time he could remember that it really felt like a  _game_.

Before Keith had fully stopped laughing, Lance pushed himself off of him and again offered his hand.

Keith, grinning, took it, and climbed to his feet.

“You  _really_  don’t laugh enough,” said Lance, still holding onto Keith’s hand, pulling it against his chest like it was made of something valuable and rare, like gold, or something more.

“It’s happening more than it used to,” admitted Keith. He didn’t want to say it, but Lance made him feel lighter. He had from the moment they agreed to work together. Maybe before then. Like being around him filled Keith’s chest with helium. And when he didn’t feel so heavy, laughter came easy.

Lance’s eyes flicked past Keith’s shoulder, down the corridor they’d found themselves in, and his entire expression changed. His smile dropped, his lips parted, and his eyes widened.

Keith had to tear his eyes away from Lance’s to see what he was looking at.

The answer was, well, just the corridor.

But the corridor itself was incredible. Decorated with countless sandy-white pillars on cracked stone tile of the same color. Some pillars reached all the way to the ceiling, columns that held the crumbling building together where the ceiling hadn’t yet caved in. Others stopped at hip-height and bore pots with beautiful, leafy ferns and colorful flowers that no doubt got all they needed from the open ceiling. Orange and yellow leaves curled here and there on the floor, no doubt borne from the autumn-turned trees Keith could see rustling from the gaps in the ceiling tile. And hanging on every string tied between each pair of adjacent columns was another colorful tapestry.

“Wow,” murmured Keith. He could see what had caught Lance’s eye.

“You’ve never been here before?” asked Lance.

“I’ve never had a reason to come here,” said Keith. “Do you think those tapestries are like the ones before?”

“The ones that almost got us killed?” asked Lance. “Oh, Keith, I have  _no doubt_  that that’s  _exactly_  what those tapestries are. And…” He let go of Keith’s hand. “It’s my job as a QA tester to try out every single one of them.”

The playful tone with which Lance had said those words raised Keith’s eyebrow, but by the time he’d turned around to question it, Lance had disappeared.

“Lance?”

He was answered by the press of cold fingers against the back of his neck.

Keith gasped and clapped his hand over the cold, and when he whipped around, he saw the flap of a pink tapestry and the last few seconds of a fading navy blue robe.

Clueing into Lance’s game, Keith whipped around, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“Tag.” Lance poked Keith’s forehead with two fingers, smirking in a way that made Keith’s heart stop beating, and while Keith’s mind raced to catch up with what was happening with his tightened chest and his knotted stomach and his sweaty palms, Lance withdrew his hand and took a step backward, toward the tapestry behind him.

“You’re it,” he said, slow and taunting, and disappeared with a flutter of the fabric.

Keith turned around and saw Lance running backwards, sticking his tongue out, and that was all it took for Keith to push whatever was happening to him aside.

No matter what, he wasn’t going to lose to Lance.

He grinned and charged down the corridor, rustling the tapestries he rushed by.

Lance laughed as Keith gained up, and just when he was within range and reached out, Lance dashed through a tapestry, throwing the fabric into the air and hitting Keith’s face with a greater force than he was expecting.

“ _Ow._ ”

“Dude, you okay?” Lance peeked back through the space behind the tapestry, fading in again like a bad movie effect.

Keith rubbed his nose. “Yeah, I’m fine, but…”

“But?”

Keith grinned and tapped Lance’s shoulder hard with the flat his hand. “You’re it.”

Before Lance could react beyond widening his eyes, Keith darted away, laughing heartily.

“Oh,  _you_  are the  _worst!_ ” Lance called after him, his footfalls heavy behind Keith’s back.

“Gotta be quick,” teased Keith, turning around briefly to jog backwards, just long enough to see Lance’s face.

Lance scowled and dove into what Keith  _thought_  was a random tapestry, up until he turned back around and nearly crashed into Lance’s chest.

“How’s  _that_  for quick?” He jabbed Keith in the side. “Tag!” He darted down the corridor. “See if I stop next time you get hurt!”

It very quickly became clear that Lance knew exactly how to navigate the tapestries, unlike Keith who couldn’t make out a pattern at all.

Keith responded by jumping through tapestries at random. If Lance had more control, Keith could turn that against him by turning his game of strategy into a game of chance.

“Tag!”

“Where did you  _come_  from?!”

But working in Lance’s favor was the fact that Keith was laughing so hard he could barely see through the tears of mirth in his eyes.

“Tag!”

“What?!”

“Eyes on the prize, Keith.”

There were no rules. They tripped each other by knocking down the shorter pillars or tugging on robes or leaving trails of ice in their wake, they tangled each other in the tapestries, they feinted and tricked and tagged-back.

Keith dove past a tapestry at random just as Lance stepped through another and they collided in the middle, hard. Their collision turned fast into a laugh-laced wrestling match as they each fought to pin the other to the ground.

Lance was a mage and Keith was a warrior. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who was going to wind up on top, but Keith was no less proud to have Lance trapped beneath him.

“That… That counts,” he managed through heavy, hardy panting.

“Oh, there’s no  _way_ …that  _that_ counts!” insisted Lance, just as worn out, his chest rising and falling with the same effort, still half-heartedly struggling to release his wrists from Keith’s grip. “We bumped into each other!”

“Yeah,” said Keith. “And then I pinned you. My point.”

Lance grinned. “There aren’t  _points_ in  _tag!_ ”

“There are now,” said Keith. “The game is over.  _You’re_  it. So I win.”

“Oh, the game is absolutely  _not_  over.” Lance fought against Keith’s grip anew. “Just...gotta get...loose!”

He barely managed to move his wrists an inch before giving up and sending Keith the dirtiest look he’d ever received in his life.

Keith smirked. “Anyway, like I was saying—”

“Oh, quiznak off!”

Laughter burst out of Keith’s chest like firecrackers. He screwed his eyes shut and bowed his head, his entire body quaking. If Lance wanted to wriggle out from beneath him, that would have been the time.

But he didn’t. And when Keith opened his eyes, he understood why.

Lance was just staring at him.

Eyes wide, lips parted… Openly gawking.

Gripped by self-consciousness, Keith stopped laughing. His face felt hot, like he was sitting too close to a fire.

No one had ever looked at him like that before.

He wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to react to something like that.

So he simply didn’t.

He released Lance’s wrists, stood from the floor, and dusted himself off.

“Anyway,” said, scowling at his own armor, ignoring the burning of his ears. “We should probably get back on track. We need to talk to the mouse before you have to log off.”

“...Yeah.” Lance sat up in the corner of Keith’s eye. “Guess you’re right.”

He climbed to his feet, and Keith swallowed hard.

His heart was pounding again.

 

* * *

 

“That woman is  _not_  my mother! Do not call this number again!”

Matt yanked the phone from his ear and dropped it on the couch with a wince. The “call ended” screen flashed back at him for less than a second before fading.

“...So,” he said slowly, looking to Shiro’s back in the kitchen for comfort. “Apparently there’s some family drama there.”

“Yeah,” said Shiro, turning the skillet he was cooking with and earning a hiss from the oil. “I think I could hear it from here.” He looked over his shoulder with a sympathetic smile. “I did tell you not to get involved.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” said Matt slowly. “But Honerva’s still my friend. And if she won’t talk to me, I thought maybe…” He sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I thought she might need someone to barge in and help whether she wants it or not.” He stood from the couch, his eyes on the carpet. “Like you helped me.”

“The only reason I was able to help you then was that I knew you,” said Shiro, turning back to his cooking. “And  _Pidge_  knew you well enough to tell me you needed my help. I know you and Honerva are friends, but you’re still  _new_  friends. Let someone who knows her better handle this one.”

Matt crossed his arms. “Guess you’re right. But I still—”

A knock at the door cut Matt’s words short.

“We’re done with interviews for the day, right?” asked Shiro.

“Of course we are,” said Matt. “It’s almost six.”

The knock came again.

“Maybe Keith forgot his key,” offered Shiro.

Matt shrugged. “Better answer it, then.”

He crossed the living room and opened the door.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw on the other side.

“Keith…?”

He recognized everything. He’d seen it all in the mirror barely more than a year before.

The dead look in Keith’s eye. The pale face. The trembling. Even the way Keith hugged himself, like his soul was doing everything it could to leave his body and every ounce of strength he had went toward trying to keep it from floating away.

“Matt,” said Keith weakly, his eyes unfocused. “Do you...remember saying that the hardest part was knowing no one knew how you felt?”

Matt nodded, silent. He knew what little words meant.

“I guess…” Keith’s shaking doubled. “I guess that’s something I don’t have to worry about.”

Matt yanked Keith into his arms and held him tight, as tight as his arms would allow. Keith’s trembling turned to heaving sobs.

Before Matt could so much as ask, another pair of arms wrapped tight around the two of them, keeping the two of them safe and warm.

And the strangest, most hysterical thought entered Matt’s mind before he could stop it.

_Welcome to the No-Dad Club, Keith. We’re basically all accounted for. The only one left is…_

Matt winced guiltily.

_Allura._

 

* * *

 

The cool water lapped against Lance’s knees. It was far from freezing, but it was still unpleasant. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to lean down and wrap his arms around Blue’s neck.

“You better not let go of me,” muttered Lance.

Keith’s grip tightened on his shoulders. “I’m not going to.”

Lance nodded. “Okay.” He took a deep breath through his nose and rubbed idly at the scales on the back of Blue’s neck. “ _Okay._ ”

“Blue won’t do anything you don’t ask her to do,” reminded Keith. “She won’t even float over the surface unless you tell her to.”

A rumble rolled through the length of Blue’s body at that, a wordless confirmation.

“I know that,” said Lance. “It’s just— We’re one footstep away from land, and this is  _still_  the farthest I’ve been from the shore in a  _long time._ ”

“Do you want to get off?” asked Keith.

Lance scoffed. “This was  _my idea,_ remember?”

“Okay,” said Keith. “Just...remember, exposure therapy is supposed to be about proving to yourself that it’s not as dangerous as you think. If all this is doing is making you more scared, that defeats the purpose.”

“I  _know_  that,” said Lance again. “I  _want to be here._  I just… Give me some time to get used to it.”

Keith squeezed his shoulders. “Don’t take on more than you can handle. If all we do is sit on Blue’s back for a while today, that’s still progress.”

“Gotcha.”

“And Lance?”

Lance looked over his shoulder and met Keith’s eyes.

He was smiling, and it went right to Lance’s heart.

“I’m proud of you.”

 

* * *

 

Shiro still found himself petting Keith’s hair despite Keith long-since crying himself to sleep.

“I know this has to be hard on you, too,” whispered Matt from Keith’s opposite side. His glasses glinted at Shiro through the darkness, reflecting the moonlight from the window. “He was almost your dad as much as he was Keith’s.”

“It’s different,” said Shiro, pressing his cheek into the pillow beneath his head. “I already lost two father figures. I know what it feels like. I was prepared for it. But Keith… After his mom left, his dad was all he had.”

“Oh, come on, Shiro,” said Matt, reaching across Keith with visible caution to hold Shiro’s face. “You know that’s not true. If it was, he wouldn’t have come here.”

Shiro sighed. It was all he could do.

“I know this is a touchy question,” said Matt, dropping his hand to Keith’s arm, “but do you know where his dad— I mean...what his dad wanted after—”

“You know that forest of people buried under trees?” asked Shiro, who knew Matt well enough to guess what he was trying to say.

“Seriously?” asked Matt. “Huh.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing, just…” Matt shrugged one shoulder. “That’s exactly where I want to go.”

“You?” Shiro found himself smiling in spite of the topic. “ _You_  want to be one with nature? And here I thought you replaced your blood vessels with wires years ago.”

“Hardy-har-har.” Matt rolled his eyes. “I like it because it actually does something with the resources in my body instead of letting them literally rot away in a box. I actually want to be useful after I die.”

Shiro’s smile faded. “...Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“I really…” Shiro took a deep breath through his nose. “I don’t want to think about you dying. Not right now. I...” He knitted his brow. “I’ve lost too many people. I think...if I lost you, or...if I lost Keith...it’d be enough to break me.”

Matt’s eyes softened. “Shiro, I…” His hand covered Shiro’s, and Shiro’s hand stilled in Keith’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

Shiro took another deep breath and turned his hand over to lace his fingers with Matt’s. “Just...don’t leave me.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

Keith hated the whispering.

He’d been watching Lance do that for ages.

Just whispering right in front of him.

Whispering with Arusians, with the Merfolk, with  _Coran._  Like Lance had some big secret he’d been telling absolutely everyone but Keith.

Watching Lance tell a  _mouse_  of all creatures just maddened Keith even more.

He was hunched over, one hand cradling Platt, the other cupped around Platt’s ear, his eyes twinkling playfully as Platt nodded eagerly.

They both turned toward Keith, beaming, confident.

Keith crossed his arms.

Lance wasn’t going to tell him anything. He already knew that from trying to pry answers out of him in the past.

All it did was make them both angry.

But just the whispering…

...at least that only made  _Keith_  angry.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay, well…” Shiro pushed Keith’s bangs away from his forehead. “I know it’s hard, but if you can, I want you to do your homework. Even partial credit is better than no credit. I don’t want your grades to slip.”

Keith pulled his blankets higher around his shoulders and rolled over, turning his back on Shiro. “Yeah. I get it.”

Shiro ran a hand down his face. He felt helpless. Keith wasn’t closing himself off the same way Matt had. His sleeping schedule was almost unchanged, he ate when Shiro and Matt called him to meals, he wasn’t working himself to the bone like Matt did. The problem was that he wasn’t doing much besides eating or sleeping. Shiro couldn’t pick Keith up and carry him away from doing nothing. School got him out of the house, but...Shiro got the feeling Keith spent his classes zoned out as well.

“I’ll…” Shiro took a step toward the door of what had been the office before Keith moved in. “...I’ll bring something back for you, okay? A milkshake or something. You don’t have to eat it, just—”

“Thanks,” said Keith in the same tone most people said the words “go away”.

Shiro took the hint and left.

Matt was waiting for him in the living room, umbrella in hand.

“No luck?” he asked, smiling sympathetically.

“None,” said Shiro.

Matt sighed and reached for the doorknob. “Didn’t think so.”

“I’ve never been so frustrated in my life,” said Shiro, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and shrugging. “I— I feel like a failure. How is it that I knew exactly what to do with you, but with Keith, I’m completely lost? He’s my family. I watched him grow up. How am I supposed to—”

“Breathe, Shiro.” Matt set a hand on Shiro’s arm. “You’re not a failure. Pidge and I have been attached at the hip since they were born, and  _they_ didn’t know what to do when  _I_  was crashing. That doesn’t mean _I_  think  _they’re_ a failure.”

“That’s different,” said Shiro, allowing Matt to guide him out of the apartment. “They’re younger than you.”

“My mom didn’t know what to do, either,” said Matt, releasing Shiro only to lock the door. “You were the only one who did.”

“I don’t think Keith has a best friend who’s been secretly in love with him for years, though,” said Shiro. “He has us.  _We’re_  his best friends. And we’re...not doing much.”

“Maybe he should talk to a counselor,” offered Matt.

“He’s Keith,” said Shiro. “He’d never go, and forcing him wouldn’t do any good.”

“Good point,” said Matt, looping an arm through the crook of Shiro’s. “What about a journal?”

Shiro managed a smile. “It’s worth a shot. Better than a therapist, anyway.”

 

* * *

 

“The trees are pretty.”

Lance shrugged, looking out at the sea of red and gold from the branches where he and Keith stood. “Sure, but it means Arus is getting colder.” He hugged himself, grateful for the thick fabric of his mage robes. “It’s so cold in the real world already. I kind of enjoyed being able to go outside without worrying about the cold.”

“The beach is still warm,” said Keith, leaning around the trunk of the tree from the adjacent limb to meet Lance’s eyes. “And Daibazaal is warm no matter what time of year it is.”

Lance rolled his eyes and pressed his back to the tree trunk. “Yeah, but that’s Daibazaal. If we’re going to be there, it’s not exactly for sightseeing.” He looked over his shoulder. “How much more do we have to do, by the way? Before we can actually take on Zarkon, I mean.”

“You still haven’t mastered the defense magic from Platt,” said Keith, casually reaching over his head to hang a hand from a higher branch. “But aside from that… We already have all we need for our weapons. We just need to craft them. Aside from the Bayard.” He shifted his weight, and the branch beneath him creaked. “Same with our armor. We don’t have our Red Ichor yet—”

“I am  _not_  looking forward to fighting Drazil,” said Lance, shuddering.

Keith smiled. “That’s new. Remember when we met? You were so mad I wouldn’t let you fight him at… What were you, level five?”

Lance gave an amused scoff and rubbed his arms, warding off the cool breeze. “Yeah, I had  _no_ idea what I was getting into. At least it would have been a quick death.”

“But...you’re stronger now,” said Keith, shuffling closer without quite leaving his branch. “If I can take on Drazil by myself, he doesn’t have a chance against both of us.”

Lance smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Careful. That almost makes it sound like you have  _faith_  in me.”

Keith’s smile faded. He seemed hesitant. Maybe even confused. “Lance?” He took a step down the length of his branch and lowered his arm from the limb overhead. “What are you talking about? Of course I—”

_Snap!_

Lance reached out before he knew what he was doing.

_Crack!_

In the blink of an eye, Keith was pulled tight against Lance’s chest, and he watched the limb Keith had just been standing on crash to the ground, whacking against every other limb on the tree on its way down.

Lance didn’t fully realize he was the one who had pulled Keith against him until that limb hit the dirt, and Keith’s smell hit him in a sudden, startling wave.

Hibiscus dye. Lots and lots of hibiscus dye.

Lance was never going to get used to how realistic the smells in Altea were.

Slowly, nervously, Lance lifted his head, and his gaze connected with Keith’s, their noses barely an inch from touching. Keith’s lips a mere breath away.

“You’re…” Keith swallowed. Lance was close enough to hear it. “Like...I was saying, I... _do_...have faith in you.” He pushed away from Lance’s chest. “And...clearly it’s well-placed, so, uh…”

He patted Lance’s sternum and took a step back.

Lance cleared his throat. “Anyway, uh. About those, uh, Silver Leaves we’re supposed to be collecting?”

Keith turned his face away and coughed into the back of his wrist. “Right.”

 

* * *

 

Driving through rain always made Matt nervous.

He could handle the rain itself, even the slick roads.

But when it was dark, when all the street lights twisted and bounced off the wet asphalt, when it was hard to tell where lanes ended or whether he was looking at the right streetlight...that’s when being behind the wheel felt like a bad idea.

Normally, he would have opted out of dinner, but when Shiro had been under so much stress, it was hard to cancel plans.

“So,” said Matt, half-smiling at the blinding roads. “At what point  _do_ we break into Keith’s room and throw him over our shoulders to get ice cream or something?”

Shiro barked a quiet laugh. “Oh, he’d love that.”

“I know I did,” said Matt, his smile twisting into a wry smirk. “Seriously, though, the journal was a good idea, and I hope it makes a difference, but if we could just get him out of the apartment for something other than school…” His eyes flicked up to the streetlight ahead. Green. He almost wished it was red so he could slow down for a moment.

“Let’s just start with the journal for now,” said Shiro. “Knowing Keith, I think he needs a more...gradual approach.”

Matt sighed. “You’re right. I just feel…”

“Hopeless?” Shiro offered his hand over the console. “Join the club.”

Matt, against his better judgment, took a hand off the wheel to reach for Shiro’s.

“Thank you, by the way,” whispered Shiro. “For everything. For how well you’ve taken all of this, for not hesitating to let Keith live with us… The support… All of it.”

“What, did you think I was going to just abandon Keith?” Matt squeezed Shiro’s hand. “He might be your cousin, but he’s  _my_  best friend. Outside of you or Pidge or my mom, I can’t think of anyone who means more to me than Keith.”

“I know,” said Shiro. “And I’m sure Keith knows that.”

“I hope so,” said Matt, squinting through the windshield. Another green light. “When you’re in your own personal hell like this, everything good seems so far away.”

“Well,” said Shiro, “we’ll just have to keep reminding him.”

Their car passed under the stoplights.

“He’s lost a lot, but he’s still loved.”

They reached the intersection.

“He deserves—  _Matt!_ ”

So did the other car.

 

* * *

 

If anyone asked, Keith was trying to stretch the limits of his cantrips. He was trying to burn a literal hole in Coran’s table. He was working on his abilities, not just...staring. Certainly not because there was something on his mind.

And absolutely, positively not because there was some _one_  on his mind.

A cup of tea hit the table, intercepting Keith’s gaze and yanking him out of his thoughts.

Keith lifted his head, and the bangs that had been lying over the hand he’d pressed into his forehead fell over his eyes.

When he pushed his hair away, he found Coran watching him, a fatherly smile on his face.

“...Thank you,” said Keith quietly, turning his gaze back to the tea he’d just been offered.

It was a different color than usual.

Deep blue.

Like Lance’s eyes.

Keith reached for the cup, refusing to think about it too hard.

The chair on the opposite side of the table squeaked across the wooden floorboards as Coran pulled it back.

“So,” said Coran, lowering himself into the chair with a cup of his own. “Groggerie for your thoughts?”

Keith scoffed and looked into the surface of his tea. “...If that was how it worked, I’d give up all the gold I have just to figure them out.”

“Ah,” said Coran, leaning back in his chair. “That’s a boat I’ve sailed many times. Though not lately. You never can tell where that ship is bound, either. Not until you reach your destination.”

Keith frowned deep into his cup. A ship… That was exactly how it felt. Like being on a boat in stormy waters. No lighthouses, no stars, no compass or sextant...nothing. Just darkness and tumbling waves.

“What happens if I capsize?” whispered Keith, surprising even himself by just how willing he was to talk with Coran.

“That’s up to you,” said Coran. “But you don’t seem the type to let it turn you upside-down like that. No, you’re not like that at all. Worst-case scenario, you reach land, however long that takes, and your boat doesn’t make it. But you will. You’ll crawl right out of those splinters and move on.”

Keith glared at himself, at his own sapphire blue face swimming in the surface of the drink he still hadn’t touched.

“Then, of course,” said Coran, “there’s the  _best_  case scenario.”

Keith shut his eyes. “ _What_  best case scenario?”

“Paradise,” said Coran. “Everything you’ve ever wanted, everything you didn’t realize you wanted, and everything you don’t want yet but wouldn’t give away for the world once you have it.”

“I’m not going to have  _anything,_ ” muttered Keith, lifting his cup. “Either I crash, or I wind up in the same place I started, or there’s nothing to find, or…” He sighed sharply, and he raised his cup to his lips.

Blue raspberry. Of course.

When Keith lowered his cup again, he met Coran’s kind gaze from across the table, if only for a beat, then dropped it back to the surface of his tea.

“...Islands aren’t meant for people like me.”

“Well,” said Coran, quieter than usual, but still just as lively. Just as optimistic. Keith wished he could borrow that hope. “I’d say  _that’s_  up to the  _island._ ”

 

* * *

 

Hunk took a deep breath.

Shay nudged his hand with the back of her own. “Are you well?”

“Me? Oh, no, I’m fine. Just standing in front of a big door signaling the last boss of the area after forty-nine monsters of exponentially increasing size and levels of disgusting. We’re probably about to be face-to-face with something made of spiders or, like, some kind of a maggot golem that smells like rotten turkey and formaldehyde or something. Yeah, I’m great.” Hunk cleared his throat. “Uh, how about you?”

Shay smiled kindly. “Hunk.” Her fingers laced through Hunk’s, cool and solid and comforting. “No matter what beast we face, know that I am with you.”

A round, soft, sludgy nose nudged at Hunk’s back.

Shay giggled over Hunk’s instinctive disgust. “And so is the stinky one.”

Hunk squeezed Shay’s hand. It was like squeezing bone. “Okay. You’ve got a point. We have each other. As long as I have you—” He looked over his shoulder. “...and... _Stinky_...then I can handle anything.”

He took a deep breath through his nose.

“Bring it on, Altea! Show me what you got!”

 

* * *

 

“ _Sir—_ ”

“Matt, don’t!”

“Matthew Lucas Holt, you get your butt back in that bed!”

“The middle name thing stopped working on me when I was twenty-three, Mom!”

“ _Matthew Lucas Holt._ ”

Matt winced for more reasons than just the pain shooting up his leg. “Mom, you don’t understand. You weren’t in that crash. You didn’t see what I saw.”

“And talking to a man who is comatose isn’t going to change a thing about what happened.”

Colleen grabbed Matt’s face, and he winced again when her palm came in contact with the stitches in his cheek.

“Sweetheart, I know you’re scared for Shiro,” she said, her voice as firm as it was gentle. “We all are. But there isn’t anything you can do right now.”

Pidge’s hand wrapped around Matt’s arm, warm and steady. Matt could barely see them without his glasses, but he could just barely make out the signs of a kind, weary expression.

“Shiro wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself just because of him.”

Matt sat down on the edge of the hospital bed, and he didn’t need his glasses to notice just how much the nurse in his room visibly relaxed.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Fine. But on one condition.” He raised his head. “Keith. He’s probably terrified. I need to see him before he does something stupid.”

“That won’t be a problem.” Colleen sent the nurse a stare Matt was all too familiar with. “Right?”

The nurse no longer seemed relaxed. “T-Technically—”

“ _Right?_ ”

“...No, ma’am.”

 

* * *

 

Pidge tackled the caterpillar-like creature to the ground with the full force of their body.

“Ha!” They wrestled against the creature’s floating while Rover flapped above their head. “Got you now! You can’t teleport me away when you’re not looking at me, can you?”

The green, fuzzy thing puttered, then stopped moving altogether.

Pidge narrowed their eyes, sure it was a trick, that the creature was trying to earn sympathy. They weren’t about to fall for that.

But...then came the other creatures, pastel and fuzzy and floating out of the hollow of every identical tree.

And none of them were trying to send Pidge back to the village.

They were all simply...watching.

Warily, Pidge climbed off of the one they’d pinned and they held it up to their face.

“Are you gonna be good?”

The creature stared blankly.

“Okay,” said Pidge, their grip slackening. “You know, you guys are actually pretty cute when you’re not being obnoxious.”

A small group of the caterpillar creatures huddled around Pidge’s shoulders, like they were trying to combine their strength to give an odd sort of hug.

Pidge laughed cheerfully. “Okay, okay. Are you guys gonna let me go now that I figured out the illusion puzzle?”

Rover’s screech rang through the trees, electronic and squealing, like feedback from a speaker. Pidge clapped their hands over their ears and lifted their head.

“Rover, what—?!”

Rover screeched again, and that time, Pidge saw for themselves exactly what Rover was screeching at.

Two robed figures. In the trees. Their faces covered by white, beak-like masks.

One hung eerily from the bark of a tree by their hands and feet, upside-down, neck twisted eerily like the mangled corpse of a dead lizard.

The other might not have been nearly so frightening if not for what they were standing on.

From under their boot, barely visible under the hem of their robes, glinted the faintest silver sheen, with a bit of pink rope hanging from the end.

That was...

...a steel piton.

Just like the one Pidge had found on one of their earliest excursions into the woods.

Pidge felt all the color drain out of their face.

_How long?_

_How long was I followed?_

 

* * *

 

Lance crossed his arms over the windowsill.

“Really coming down, huh?” he whispered. “You know, when I was a kid, I loved this kind of weather. But now, the cold, the idea of getting soaked…” He sighed. “Man, I miss it, though. Running through puddles without being scared of getting frostbite and losing a foot. Feeling the rain in my hair without worrying about being sick for the rest of my life. Shivering without being paranoid.”

“I’m sorry.” Keith’s hand came down warm and gentle on Lance’s shoulder.

“What are  _you_ sorry for?” Lance’s chin came down to rest on his arms. “It’s not your fault I’m scared of it.”

_Scared._

And yet there Lance sat, watching it through the window. Longing to be out there.

He still loved the rain. He couldn’t imagine not loving it.

It was just being out in it, feeling it on his skin, that was the problem.

“You’re the whole reason I can sit and  _watch_  like this,” said Lance, lifting his head and looking over his shoulder. “Normally, I’d freak out if I watched it too closely. What do I think is gonna happen, anyway? What, the roof’s going to come off?” He rolled his eyes.

“It makes sense to me,” said Keith. “If you watch a movie too closely, you start to feel like the characters. Why wouldn’t you feel like you’re out in the rain if you’re watching the rain?”

Lance smiled. “Wow, you’re actually totally capable of sympathy, aren’t you?”

Keith crossed his arms, confident and charming and so unbelievably, obnoxiously Keith that Lance knew it wouldn’t have been nearly as attractive on anyone but him. “I’ve been known to dabble.”

_Man, I have a problem_.

Lance opened his mouth to tease Keith about how insufferably smug he was, but before he got the chance, lightning flashed and thunder crashed so startlingly loud that Lance jumped.

And so did Keith.

Lance smirked. “Wow, what was that, a good six inches of air you got there, Michael Jordan?”

Keith’s face turned as red as his armor. “You— You jumped too! I saw it!”

Lance draped an arm over the back of his chair. “Sure, sure, yeah, whatever you need to say to make yourself feel better about nearly wetting your armor.”

Keith turned an even darker shade of red, and rather than retaliating the way Lance had expected, he fell utterly silent, averted his eyes, and shrank into his shoulders.

_Okay… Weird… Was that too far? No, it can’t be, I’ve said way worse stuff than that before and it’s never made Keith do_ that. _Maybe he’s just not in the mood for it today. I guess that’s a possibility. Do I need to apologize?_

“Look, Keith…”

Keith met Lance’s eyes, still blushing a brilliant red that was absolutely not at all adorable on someone as normally-stone-faced as Keith, but before Lance could get the apology out, Keith’s attention diverted elsewhere. Toward the window.

He blinked, taken aback, and his lips parted.

Lance tilted his head. He followed Keith’s gaze to the window, and—

“What is  _that?_ ”

“ _Those,_ ” said Keith, his voice shaking with what could only be awe, “are  _Lightning Flies._ ”

Lance knitted his brow. “Uh,  _Lighting Flies?_  I can think of something that has two names kind of similar to that, but…”

But they didn’t come in countless glittering colors like fairies dancing under the trees.

Keith dropped to a knee beside Lance’s chair. “They only show up in fall,” he explained, sounding driven, almost hypnotized. “Only when it’s raining, and they only spawn where lightning has struck.”

“Man,” breathed Lance. “That lightning must have hit really close, right on the other side of the path.”

He could see why Keith was so awestruck. It was hard to take his eyes off the colors, the soft rainbow of lights that warmed the grass and the undersides of the deep red leaves.

But when Lance finally did tear his gaze away from the ethereal sight, he caught Keith staring at, not the Lightning Flies, but  _him_.

“Uh… Keith?” Lance felt his ears burn. “Why are you looking at me like—”

“I’m going out there,” said Keith, standing from the floor.

“Okay, and why are you doing that?” asked Lance, no less confused.

“Because,” said Keith, reaching into his bag. “You deserve to see them up close.” He pulled an empty bottle free from his belongings. “And if you can’t go out there, then I’ll bring them in here.”

Lance was sure he had never been so red in his entire life.

“Wh— Keith, you  _really_  don’t have to do that.”

“Do you not want me to?”

“I— No, I mean— It’d be  _cool,_  but—”

“Then why shouldn’t I?”

“You’re gonna get soaked!”

“Which is why I’m doing it instead of you.”

Lance worked his jaw, searching desperately for a protest, one that failed to come before Keith turned around and headed for the door.

He was outside before Lance had managed a single word.

Lance watched from the window as Keith darted across the path to the other side, to the shadows of the autumn-stained zelkova trees. He was barely visible through the darkness of the overcast sky, but it was hard to miss the pinks and greens and blues that blushed across his skin, staining him in their colors.

It was hard to imagine a sight more beautiful.

Lance buried his face in his hands and pushed his fingers up through his hair.

The second his eyes were uncovered, they immediately returned to what they had been doing.

Staring at Keith.

He  _definitely_  had a problem.

“Lance—”

Lance flinched violently and whipped around in his chair, feeling like he was five years old again, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Coran— You— What— I wasn’t doing anything!”

“No?” Coran crossed his arms, smirking behind his mustache. “So I am to take from that you  _weren’t_  watching Keith like he hung all the stars in the sky and lit all the cheribuns in the Bloquinter?”

“I wasn’t looking at him like anything!” said Lance, who understood roughly half of what he was being accused of. “Look, he’s very nice, and he’s very pretty— I—! I didn’t mean pretty! Let me start over! Where did you even come from, anyway?!”

“It  _is_  my inn,” said Coran, raising a hand to his chin. “And you  _do_  happen to be staring through my window like Blaytz the Romantic seeing Korvotik the Enamoring for the first time. Like everything you’ve ever wanted is right beyond that dusty old road catching Lightning Flies in the rain.”

Lance sighed sharply. “Everything I’ve ever wanted. Right.” He turned around and looked through the window again, at Keith, clothes soaked to his skin, hair clinging to his face. “More like...everything I’ve ever wanted to…”

_Kiss!_  said one part of his mind.  _Hold!_  said another.  _Cherish until that smile you almost never see becomes the new normal!_  said a particularly embarrassing corner.

“...Beat in a game of checkers,” grumbled Lance, hiding half his face behind a hand, wincing at himself.

Coran hummed thoughtfully from behind Lance’s back.

“And you’re sure about that?” he said quietly, grabbing onto Lance’s shoulders. “Then let me ask you a question.” He bent down until his head was level with Lance’s, both of their eyes on the world beyond the window. “What  _exactly_  do you see when you look at our fiery little friend out there, hm? When I say ‘Keith’ to you, what, precisely, comes to mind?”

“...pain in the butt,” grumbled Lance, knowing full well exactly how petulant he was being. How dishonest that was.

“Hmm,” said Coran slowly. “Try again. Real answers this time. None of this macho defensiveness.”

Lance sighed, heavy and annoyed and dreading whatever was bound to come out of his mouth.

“Look,” said Lance stiffly. “He’s a good leader. I’ve seen him do some amazing stuff when he’s put in charge of a group. When the chips are down, I’d trust him basically above anyone else. I respect him, and I can admit that.”

His eyes began to wander, and he naturally found himself staring, yet again, at the motion on the other side of the path. Keith’s movements as he struggled to catch Altea’s equivalent to fireflies.

“What else?” urged Coran.

Lance frowned. “He’s… He’s cool, you know? In some ways, I kind of want to be him. He’s...confident and strong and… Okay, he’s a little awkward, but that doesn’t matter. In all the ways that do matter? He’s amazing. He makes me want to be better. Stronger, smarter, faster, braver… He makes me feel like I can be...more than I am. Like I shouldn’t just give up and accept who I am now. He’ll tease me sometimes, and I know there are moments when I actually, genuinely annoy him, but he… He doesn’t give up on me. And he doesn’t let me give up on myself.”

“All right,” said Coran. “He’s supportive. And that’s good. That means he treats you well. Like a good friend. Brings out the best in you, that’s important. But this isn’t about what he provides. This is about what you think when you look at him. Give me single words. Adjectives. Whatever pops into your mind.”

Lance sighed. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” said Coran, cheerful as ever. “Not until you do what I ask you.”

Again, Lance sighed. “Fine, he’s...cool.” He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I already said that. This is stupid.”

“Keep going,” said Coran. “Repeats are fine. There are no wrong answers.”

_No wrong answers…_

“Strong,” said Lance sharply, another repeat, but one that appeared while Lance was watching Keith’s heavy armor shift over his legs.

“Good,” said Coran.

Lance watched Keith stumble forward in an attempt to catch one an evasive purple Lightning Fly. “Stupid,” he said, surprising himself with just how much affection that word carried. “Awkward. Clumsy.” He frowned and mentally backspaced over the last word. “Graceful. But...hasty. Impatient.” His frown deepened. “Daring. Angry. Kind, though. Definitely kind.”

“Good,” said Coran again. “Very good. Keep going.”

Lance didn’t have to be told twice. “Strong,” he said again, watching Keith’s face flash a brilliant gold as he cradled another Lightning Fly in his hand. The word itself was a repeat, but it didn’t feel like one. Not to Lance. There was an entirely different kind of strength there. The kind of strength that had  _kept_ him kind, even after everything he’d gone through with Matt and Shiro. “Sweet, caring, selfless, altruistic…”

The gold Lightning Fly flashed yet again in Keith’s hand, and even from where Lance sat in Coran’s inn, he could see the gentle smile on Keith’s face.

“Beautiful—”

Lance clapped his hands over his mouth.

“No, no, no! Not beautiful!” he blurted, muffled by his own hands. “Oh, my  _god_ …”

Coran squeezed Lance’s shoulders. “It’s all right, you know. It’s a good thing.”

“No, it’s not,” groaned Lance, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “It’s— Oh,  _quiznak._  I can’t believe I said that.”

“Said it?” asked Coran. “Or thought it? Because it seems to me you’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

Lance whined. “Why did you make me do that?”

“Because I wanted you to be able to admit it to yourself,” said Coran, squeezing Lance’s shoulders again. “I think it’s important that you’re aware of your own feelings—”

“I know what my feelings are, all right?!” Lance dropped his hands from his face. “I  _know_  Keith is incredible. I  _know_  he makes my heart do things hearts shouldn’t be able to do without exploding or bursting into flames. I  _know_  why I can’t stop thinking about him when I’m lying in bed at night. I  _know_  why I went all the way to Bluve Chapel by myself to talk to Sage Luxia. I  _know_  why I stayed up all night that one night to gather sixteen sheets of silk. I  _know, all right?_ ” He threw a hand into the air. “I like him! I get it! I’ve known that for a while! You were right! I absolutely, one-hundred percent  _fancy_  Keith Kogane. Are you happy now?”

Lance glared at Coran.

Coran raised an eyebrow.

“Actually, no.” He let go of Lance’s shoulders. “Because now I have an entirely different question.”

“ _What?_ ” demanded Lance. “What could you  _possibly_  need to know that I haven’t said already? Because I’m pretty sure I just told you  _all of my secrets._ ”

“Well…” said Coran. “If you know how you feel about Keith, and he’s out there, then why, in the name of King Groggery the Infirm, are you still in here?”

 

* * *

 

Keith wasn’t the type to think things through.

From the moment he’d seen Altea in trouble, he’d gotten it in his head that it needed to be saved.

And from the moment he’d seen Lance so enthralled with the Lightning Flies, he’d gotten it in his head that Lance needed to see them up close.

There was no need for Keith to waste time wondering exactly why something was a problem. He just needed to find a solution.

Usually.

Sometimes, things weren’t quite as easy.

Sometimes, the pros and the cons of a situation were almost completely tied, and Keith found himself seeking help from near-strangers. Listening to the advice of innkeepers, whispering to a dragon who wouldn’t talk back, leaving flowers on a shrine and not walking away before asking a question, one Keith still didn’t have the answer to.

There were so many things Lance didn’t know about him. Things Lance deserved to know.

But whether Lance deserved to know those things and whether he  _should_  have known those things were two different questions.

So Keith found himself yet again searching for answers in a place he knew he wouldn’t find them.

“What do you think?” he murmured, looking into the bottle he’d filled with Lightning Flies. “Should I tell him?”

The Lightning Flies sent their light refracting through the glass, swelling and shrinking with every glimmering call, but they, like Red, like Coran, like Matt’s memory, provided no answers.

Still, at least they provided comfort in a world mostly barren of it.

And Lance, after seeing so many of Altea’s horrors, deserved to see something kinder. Something that had kept Keith mostly sane over the past four deca-phoebes.

The rest of his sanity had come from…

Keith kneaded his forehead. It felt wrong, keeping something so big from Lance. Lance had his secrets, too, and Keith knew that, but it was different.  _Keith_  hadn’t turned around every hopeless part of  _Lance’s_ life just by being in it.  _Keith_ hadn’t made previously desperate, pointless goals feel like they mattered to  _Lance_.

There was so much Lance had done for Keith in such a short time, things he didn’t need to do, things he didn’t get any reward from, facing his worst fears for the sake of strangers in a world that wasn’t even his, and what was Keith doing to repay him?

Catching Altean fireflies in an old potion bottle.

Keith snatched a red Lightning Fly out of the air and dropped it into the bottle before it could get away.

Lance deserved more. So much more. He deserved the truth, and everything that came with it.

“But if he knows, he might drop the mission, and if I can’t stop Zarkon on my own, then a lot of people are going to get hurt.” Keith rubbed the smooth edges of the bottle with his thumbs. “I can’t risk it, I just…”

He sighed.

The longer he put it off, the more likely it was that Lance would leave. But if he left after Altea was safe, then it wouldn’t matter.

Not...to anyone but Keith.

Keith glared at the wet grass.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Golden light flooded the damp earth, a great deal more light than Keith had expected from the Lightning Flies, and he looked over his shoulder.

Lance stood in the doorway. A lean silhouette against the warm firelight, head bowed, arms outstretched to either side and braced against the doorframe like he was struggling to keep it from collapsing on him.

Frantic, confused, Keith shoved the bottle of captured Lightning Flies in his bag and all but ran to the door.

“Lance, what are you doing?” he asked, almost more of a demand. “I was going to bring the Lightning Flies to you. You didn’t have to—”

“I want to,” said Lance, his head still bowed. “Let me do this, Keith. I  _need_  to do this.”

Keith hesitated. “The rain’s pretty cold.”

“I know,” said Lance.

“It’s not exactly a light shower, either.”

“I know.”

“You’re ready for this? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“If you—”

“Keith.” Lance lifted his head. There was fear in his eyes, but...only as much as there was resolve. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Keith took a breath.

What was he supposed to say to that? How was he supposed to say anything but  _yes?_

Calmly, wordlessly, Keith offered his hand. Raindrops hit the palm of his leather gauntlets, bouncing and gathering in the curve of his hand.

“If you want me,” he whispered, “I’ll always be there.”

He met Lance’s gaze.

Lance was...smiling. And when he reached out to grasp the hand Keith had offered, when he reached beyond the straw-thatched roof and that first raindrop hit the back of his hand, he barely so much as flinched.

With his free hand, he closed the door behind himself, then grabbed Keith’s other hand.

With every step he dared to take, the rain spread further up his arms. It soaked into his doublet and bounced through his short hair. Within seconds, he was drenched.

His hands began to shake.

“Are you okay?” asked Keith. “You can go inside if you need to.”

“Pfft,  _inside_.” Lance smirked. “I don’t think so. I’m out here to make you proud.”

“Make me…?” Keith’s boots stopped halfway through the muddy path, a path that had all but been turned into a river in the same rain that slicked Lance’s bangs to his forehead. “Lance, I’m already proud of you.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” said Lance irritably. “I already  _know_  that. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t care about what you thought.  _But_ …” His teeth glinted in the low light. “I bet I can make you prouder.”

Keith raised an eyebrow, mirroring Lance’s smirk. “Is that a challenge?”

“You bet,” said Lance, the faintest quiver to his voice. “A self-imposed challenge.  _I…_ ” He turned his hands over in Keith’s so that they were palm-to-palm and pushed him backward, toward the Lightning Flies, like they were playing chicken. “...am going to have  _fun_  with one of my  _best friends_ , and  _nothing’s_  going to stop me.”

Keith laughed. “Okay, I get it, but if it’s too much—”

“It’s not!” said Lance. “I won’t let it be.”

He pushed Keith backward until they were in the center of the swarm of Lightning Flies, and he didn’t stop pushing until his attention was stolen by a drifting Lightning Fly.

It landed on their joined hands and crawled from Lance’s finger to Keith’s. It spread its translucent wings and glowed proudly, a deep and inviting red, unperturbed by the rain. Its red glow gleamed over their wet hands, over Lance’s cheeks.

And Keith noticed something he hadn’t noticed without that glow.

“...Are you crying?”

Lance’s expression, previously awestruck by the glow of the Lightning Fly, turned frustrated. “It’s the  _rain,_  Keith.”

He blinked, and another “raindrop” rolled down his cheek.

“No, it’s not,” said Keith. “Lance, if you need to go back inside—”

“Oh,  _shut up,_  Keith.” Lance rolled his eyes. “Fine. You’re right. I’m crying. But it’s not— I’m not crying because—” He sighed and tilted his head back. “I’m not scared. I… I mean, I  _am_ , but not scared enough to go back inside. Not when...all of this is going on.”

Keith lifted his head, following Lance’s gaze to the skies, where countless colors of countless Lightning Flies rolled their lights above them, taking the place of stars under the heavy cloud cover.

“I’m scared,” said Lance, his voice still trembling, just slightly. “I don’t want to lie to you. Not about this. I’m freaking  _terrified._  But...I mean,  _look at this._ ” He sniffed. “This is...at  _least_  the second prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s  _beautiful_ , and I’m crying because of that. I’m really proud of myself, too, and I’m crying because of  _that._ I’m just…”

He lowered his gaze, and so did Keith.

The light of every Lightning Fly under the zelkova trees swam in Lance’s eyes.

“I’m kind of emotional right now,” murmured Lance, knitting his brow. “Just...let me cry, all right?”

Keith swallowed. “...Okay.”

The Lightning Fly roosted on their hands stirred, and it took off, only for Keith to reach out and catch it before it flew out of reach.

“Hold out your hand,” whispered Keith.

Lance followed his instructions.

Carefully, Keith joined his hand with Lance’s, and he opened it, trapping the Lightning Fly between their hands.

Its red glow swelled and dimmed, shining through the spaces between their fingers, just barely visible.

Lance laughed softly. “Tickles,” he mumbled.

“Have you ever caught fireflies?” asked Keith.

“I lived too close to the beach when I was a kid,” said Lance. “I moved to Texas when I was ten, though. Lived in this wooded area by a river for a while. There were  _tons_  of fireflies there, but…” He shrugged a shoulder. “By then, I was kind of too old for it.”

“I didn’t know you lived in Texas,” murmured Keith, absently watching the glow between their hands.

“...There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” said Lance, his voice just as soft.

“I guess so,” said Keith. “...I would have still lived there by then.”

“...Yeah,” said Lance, his voice shaking. “You… You would have, huh? If you...left when you were eleven.”

“We could have met,” said Keith. “Years ago. We could have bumped into each other in a store with our parents or passed each other on the sidewalk. We would never have known we were going to be friends one day.”

Keith lifted his head, and when he did, he found Lance staring back at him, mouth agape.

It only lasted for a beat before Lance laughed and rolled his eyes. “Come on. What are the chances of that? I mean, Texas is huge!”

Keith laughed to himself. “Guess you’re right,” he admitted. “There’s no way I could have forgotten someone like you, anyway.”

“...Someone like me,” deadpanned Lance.

“Yeah,” said Keith. “You know, someone…” He held Lance’s gaze. “...incredible.”

It wasn’t until Lance’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers that Keith realized what he’d said.

He’d meant to call Lance ridiculous, or  _obnoxious_ , not—

Not what he actually thought Lance was.

“Incredible?” whispered Lance. “Are you kidding me? I can’t even go outside in the rain unless I’m so numb I can’t feel it or someone is  _literally_  holding my hand through it.”

“We all have fears,” said Keith. “But you’re willing to face yours just to catch Lightning Flies.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You have no reason to be so invested in Altea, but you’re willing to sacrifice all this time to be a better mage so you can help me take on Zarkon,” said Keith. “You’re smart enough to get past basically any puzzle, you had to have been a great dancer to get past that Unilu girl on the bridge, and you… You make friends with everyone you meet, even people like me.”

“What do you mean ‘people like you’?” demanded Lance, bafflingly angry. “Why wouldn’t I be your friend?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” said Keith, “but I have walls up so high, I can’t even see over them anymore. For weeks, all we did was fight. But you saved me.” He squeezed Lance’s hand. “You saved me over and over again in so many ways I lost c—”

“ _I_  saved  _you?!”_  Lance laughed faintly. “Are you  _joking?_  The whole reason I was able to come out here was because of you!”

“Wh—”

“You’ve spent  _weeks_  on me, just trying to help me get through my fears. We’ve been going to the ocean day after day after day, and every day, it gets a little bit easier. I’ve made more progress with you than I ever have with any therapist because you tried things no therapist ever would have done. You think a therapist would have let me lead them through an underground temple maze with a blindfold? Because I don’t!” Lance leaned in closer, all but forcing Keith to look into his eyes. “Am I ever going to get completely past my fear of water? Probably not. But I came this far, far enough that I’m standing in the rain right now just because I wanted to see some cool Altean bugs, and that’s because of you. Face it, Keith. You’re amazing. And not just for helping me through my fears.”

He brought their hands, the pair not still holding onto the Lightning Fly, down, and adjusted their hands until they were linked comfortably, the back of Keith’s wrist close enough to Lance’s leg to brush against the fabric of his white trousers.

“You’re more to me than just a...a  _service,_ ” said Lance, firm despite the still-present tremble in his voice. “You amaze me. You’re brave and cool and...and nothing stops you. You lost everything, and you’re trapped in Altea, and your first thought was, ‘Well, while I’m here, I might as well save the world.’”

Keith laughed, half-amused, half-disbelieving. “I’m  _not_ cool.”

“Yeah, you are,” said Lance. “If we went to school together, I probably wouldn’t have been able to stop gawking at you. I would have stared you down across the cafeteria for so long you got ticked off and punched me in the face.”

“I…” Heat cut through the cold, wet rain and crawled up Keith’s neck, pooling in his cheeks. Funny, the way Lance had phrased that. “I wouldn’t have punched you. Besides, I’m not… I didn’t have any friends in high school. That’s not exactly cool.”

“It is to me,” said Lance. “You’ve got that whole  _lone wolf_  thing going for you.” He tilted his head back, smiling smugly. “And I happen to pride myself on worming my way into your heart despite that.”

Keith laughed softly. “I don’t think my heart stood a chance.”

Lance’s smile softened, and Keith felt his own smile return that same softness.

Neither of them said a word until the rain clouds broke and the Lightning Flies faded away.

Every glow died, even the one trapped between their hands, and yet, when Keith led Lance back to the inn to dry off, he swore there was one light still blooming.

He couldn’t see it, but far underneath his chest plate, he could feel it.

 

* * *

 

Things had been quiet since the crash.

Shiro was no less loving. He still leaned into Matt’s every touch, he still smiled at Keith even when Keith wouldn’t smile back, he still ran his fingers through Matt’s hair regardless of whether he could do it with both hands or not… He assured Keith countless times that he was happy Keith hadn’t been in the car with them, and he never let Matt think for a second that the arm he’d lost was any more important than the life he may have very well saved losing it. He still smiled, made bittersweet jokes, countered Keith’s light-hearted teasing over breakfast every morning and stole Matt’s breath with kisses every night.

He was still Shiro in every single way that mattered.

But there were times when he’d get lost in thought. When he’d drift off, stare into space, and wouldn’t respond until Matt swept his new white hair away from his face and kissed the scar on his nose.

“Hey,” whispered Shiro, awakening warmly from the haze he’d been pulled from.

Matt pressed his forehead to Shiro’s. “Hey. You doing okay?”

“What are you talking about?” whispered Shiro, sweeping the end of his nose along the side of Matt’s. “How could I be anything less than okay when you’re right here?”

As much as Matt wanted to lose himself in Shiro’s gentle touches, in his sincerity, in the intimacy, he pulled away and held the sides of Shiro’s face.

“Let me rephrase that,” he said gently. “I  _know_  you’re not okay. And I think I know what’s wrong. But I’d like you to tell me.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” said Shiro with his kindest smile, covering Matt’s hand with his own. “I’m fine.”

“You miss being able to draw, don’t you?”

Shiro blinked, and slowly, steadily, his smile began to fade. “...Sometimes. But not enough to regret—”

“I know,” said Matt, swinging his legs over Shiro’s lap. “But that’s not what I’m asking. It’s okay to miss your arm, Shiro. You’re allowed to be sad about it. It doesn’t mean you’re taking me for granted. It just means you have feelings.”

Shiro wrapped his arm around Matt’s back and cradled him close, close enough for Matt to rest his head on Shiro’s shoulder.

“I miss being able to work on Project Beta with you,” said Shiro.

“It’s  _The Shattering of Altea_  now, remember?” Matt smiled.

Shiro chuckled. “Right. ‘Shatt-ering.’ Because you’re ridiculous.”

“That I am,” said Matt cheerfully. “But not  _half_  as ridiculous as you if you think you haven’t done enough on the project. You made more than enough textures to finish the game. And you’re still making assets.”

“Yeah, slowly,” said Shiro. “I just feel less productive. It’s frustrating.”

“You’ll figure it out,” said Matt, sliding his arms around Shiro’s shoulders. “It’ll just take some time to adjust to not having your dominant hand. You’ve figured out brushing your teeth and tying your shoes and everything, and that was the big hurdle, right? It’s just a matter of time before you figure out the more delicate stuff. You’ll be drawing again before you know it. Just...with your left hand now.”

Shiro hummed, unconvinced.

Matt knitted his brow. “Anyway, have you talked to Keith about his bike yet?”

Their conversation shifted, and Matt hoped it was enough of a distraction for Shiro to miss the thoughtfulness he knew he wore in his expression.

By the time Shiro had dozed off, Matt had made up his mind.

He stepped down from the bed, crept past Keith’s room, and stepped into the apartment hallway in his boxers. It didn’t matter. He would only be a moment.

He scrolled through the numbers on his phone, through the address book that was less than a tenth of the length it had become only a year before, all the way down to the S section.

He tapped a name, lifted his phone to his ear, and he closed his eyes.

The recipient of the call answered after only one ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Honerva…” Matt cleared his throat. “I… I know it’s late, and I’m sorry about that, but...I have a request. Something...really important.”

 

* * *

 

Keith was still smiling to himself when he returned home. He hadn’t been able to shake the smile since Lance had made it appear.

He really was good at that. Making Keith smile.

Keith turned around, intending to head for his room, but before he got the chance, something caught his eye.

A box. And a rather large one at that. Nearly large enough to be considered a chest.

And on top of the box, bound to it with twine, sat a letter. A real, tangible letter, tucked in an envelope and sealed with wax.

Curious, Keith kneeled by the box and cut it loose from the twine with his knife. The letter free, Keith flipped it over and read the front.

_To: Keith_

_From: Lancey-Lance_

Keith laughed and did his best to ignore the thump of his heart, though it was becoming harder to ignore the more he felt it.

With a cautious hand, he peeled open the envelope and read its contents.

_Dearest Keith,_

_You are hereby invited to the sweetedst shindig north of Olkarion. Meet you at the ballroom at the edge of Lovers' Lake. Party starts at sunset. Wear something that goes with what's in the box. (You don't actually have to wear what's in the box if you don't want to. No pressure.)_

_Be there or be square!_

_Yours,_

_Lance McClain_

Keith still felt himself smiling.

He shouldn’t have been. He hated parties, and it didn’t seem like Lance planned on taking no for an answer.

And yet, somehow, knowing Lance was going to be there, Keith found himself looking forward to it.

He tore his attention away from the letter and toward the box.

He knew it was going to hold some kind of equippable item, that much had been implied by the letter, but he couldn’t imagine what Lance had sent him.

Although...it did explain why Keith had caught Lance sneaking around the seamstress’s store when he should have been sleeping.

“I knew he wasn’t there for Slim Trousers,” muttered Keith, his smile unwavering despite knowing he’d been lied to. He could make an exception for surprises.

Strangely nervous, Keith reached for the lid of the box Lance had sent. He hesitated, only for a second, then lifted the lid back, letting it slide open on its hinges.

The first thing he saw was silk, which was in and of itself impressive. Silk was very difficult to come by. Lance must have spent ages farming the materials necessary to craft an item like that, and for whatever reason, that realization only made Keith smile wider. What was more, it was red. All of Lance’s items were still Arus Blue, so knowing that Lance had gone out of his way to dye an item for Keith when he never bothered for himself…

Keith pulled the item out of the box and unfolded it, revealing the item to be a cloak. Not just any cloak, either. A particularly fancy one, with enough rubies stitched into the gold-embroidered trim to make it resistant to ice magic.

A speechless breath fell from Keith’s lips. Lance couldn’t have been serious. If anyone had told Keith that Lance, of all people, had been putting together something so complex, something that required so much effort, right under Keith’s nose for what must have been weeks, Keith never would have believed them.

And yet, there Keith stood, holding the culmination of all that effort in his hands.

Keith folded the cloak over his arm, intending to carry it upstairs to hang in his wardrobe, but before he could step over the box, something caught his eye, something that made him stop.

He’d been so distracted by the cloak that he hadn’t noticed anything else in the box, but it wasn’t quite empty. There was one more item left inside, something that made Keith’s heart race and his mind go blank.

Lying diagonally across the bottom of the box, once hidden beneath the cloak, was a single, long-stemmed, bright red rose.

Unable to take his eyes away, Keith kneeled, set the cloak on his lap, and reached for the rose.

It was cool to the touch, the petals softer and smoother than Keith could have imagined, pliable under even the barest touch of his fingertips. It smelled like spring morning, like the pink that followed Keith to the inn every fourth quintant before Lance woke up on Earth.

With a wistful sigh, Keith leaned back until his shoulders hit the door behind him, and he closed his eyes, holding the rose to his chest.

All he could hear was his heartbeat.

His eyes snapped open.

“...Uh-oh.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you know how this chapter took me two months to finish...?


	33. Pause

Keith patted frantically at his new tunic. At first, he’d been tempted to wear the same tunic he’d worn every time he and Lance went to the beach, but once Keith had accepted certain...revelations he’d had about himself, the idea of going to some sort of big social event with Lance in the same tunic Lance saw him in every day made his skin crawl.

At least the seamstress had had something already picked out.

She tugged at his embroidered hem, a happy tune on her lips. “I had a feeling you would be stopping by once the Magicless Mage gave you the cloak,” she said cheerfully. “He was very eager to present it to you.” She tapped her lips with a tiny hand. “Though very whiny about the efforts made to put it together.”

Though still fidgety, Keith couldn’t help chuckling fondly. “Yeah, that sounds like Lance.”

The seamstress patted his leg. “You speak differently of him now. Gentler.”

Keith crossed his arms. “Maybe.”

“Definitely,” said the seamstress, crawling onto the counter. “You really must have liked his gift.”

“Yeah,” murmured Keith, “that’s...part of it.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” He took a breath. “Thanks for helping me. I’m...not good with this kind of stuff.”

“Anyone could have seen that from your usual attire,” said the seamstress. “No offense meant. You put a visible focus on strength, unlike the Magicless Mage, who only emphasizes appearance where possible. Although…” She ran a hand down the hem of the cloak. “The Magicless Mage did put thought into strengths as well as aesthetics when choosing an item for you. Quite the selfless decision.”

“What do you mean?” asked Keith.

“The rubies,” said the seamstress, holding up the hem where the rubies were sewn into the embroidery. “To make the cloak defensive against ice magic. Quite the show of trust, giving someone a shield designed specifically for one’s own sword.”

Keith smiled to himself. “I don’t think this is something I’ll be wearing in battle. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to it. But you’re right. It’s a nice thought.” He shook his head. “I kind of doubt that was the reason behind it, though.”

“He did say something about watching you take a particularly frightening hit from a freezing spell,” said the seamstress. “At the very least, there will be no repeat of that at the celebration.”

“Speaking of that,” said Keith, “do you know what we’re supposed to be celebrating?”

The seamstress giggled into her hand. “If you haven’t been told, I certainly won’t be the one to tell you.”

“But—”

“Hush-hush,” said the Arusian, reaching under the counter. “And take this belt. It will look wonderful over your black tunic.”

 

* * *

 

Keith should have started walking ages prior. Really walking. Not pacing. But he couldn't.

"This feels ridiculous," he grumbled, gesturing vaguely. " _I_ feel ridiculous. I’ve never worn anything like this. It’s all magic defense. I’m as good as dead the second anyone comes at me with a knife, high base defense or not.” He tugged at the hem of his tunic. “And I feel like it looks weird. But the seamstress would have told me if it looked weird, right? She _seemed_ confident.” He stopped and pivoted, his boots digging into the snow. “What do you think? Do you think I look weird?”

Red responded by steaming smoke from her nostrils and rolling her great yellow eyes.

Keith groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I don’t know why I bothered asking you,” he admitted, muffled by his gloves. “You’re not any better at this than I am.” He dropped his hands. “Maybe I should call this off. Tell Lance I can’t go.”

A whip-like tap smacked across Keith’s back, proving his point about his low defense when he lost five HP for his trouble.

“Ow!” He turned around just in time to see a fanned tail curling away. “ _Red!_ ”

Red grunted.

“I’m just going to make a fool of myself,” said Keith, facing her eye again. “Parties aren’t my thing. I could barely handle being in the same room as Matt and Shiro’s old college professors. I don’t even know who’s going to be here. It could be everyone in Arus for all I know. What I _do_ know is that _Lance_ is going to be there, and he’s…”

Keith sighed and turned around, pressing his back to Red’s warm scales and blending in almost perfectly thanks to his new cloak.

“He’s probably the kind of guy who goes to parties for fun, not just because he gets dragged to them.” He tilted his head back and looked into the cloudy sky. “He probably talks to girls. Takes them home and puts a hat on his doorknob to keep his roommate out.” He turned toward Red’s face. “That’s what people do, right? When they...you know. Bring someone home.”

He combed a hand through his bangs and glared at the point where the grass met the snow.

“Why am I even considering this?” he murmured. “I’m just going to wind up standing in a dark corner with a cup in my hand and...watching him dance with mermaids.”

Red rumbled against him, a low growl that was almost closer to a purr, and Keith’s mind was flooded with thoughts, thoughts that felt like they could have been his own though he knew they weren’t.

_Lance didn’t put all that effort into making a cloak for a mermaid._

_Lance didn’t trust a mermaid to lead him into the rain._

_Lance didn’t call a mermaid one of his best friends._

Keith closed his eyes. “He did call me one of his best friends,” he murmured. “And...that still means a lot to me. More than he probably knows. And if I lost that, I’d be... _heartbroken._ But…” He ran a hand down his face. “This...isn’t about just that anymore. I know Lance, and I know he’s a flirt. The day we lost the Fallen Star, he couldn’t even leave the chapel without hitting on its sage.” He crossed his arms. “Maybe I haven’t seen him do it in a while, but the only women we’ve run into have been Arusians, and there could be _Alteans_ at the party. I feel like I’m just…”

He shrugged.

“I’m setting myself up to get hurt.”

Another thought rang through Keith’s head. Another that didn’t belong to him.

_Does Lance seem like the kind of person to invite one of his best friends to a party only to leave him alone to hit on girls?_

Keith averted his eyes.

No.

Lance wasn’t that kind of person at all.

Red nudged Keith’s back, pushing him forward and forcing him to stand on his own two feet.

He rubbed his shoulder and fiddled with the gold clasp of his cloak.

“Thanks, Red.” Keith met her eye. “For the ride here and...everything else.”

Red closed her eyes and rolled onto her side, looking a great deal more like a satisfied house cat than a dragon. Her way of saying “you’re welcome” and assuring Keith that she’d be there if he needed her.

The walk up the mountainside was quiet, peaceful. The setting sun glittered against the snow, revealing dozens of sets of footprints marking a clear trail to the top of the mountain. Obviously, Keith wasn’t the first to take that route to the summit.

Thanks to the cloak Lance had given him, there was no reason for Keith to carry Yendailian Fire Oil. The rubies warded off the cold effortlessly. Even a blizzard would have done nothing at all, and that only served to make Keith feel even more flattered by Lance’s decision to give him the cloak.

If anyone in Altea could have benefitted from a cloak designed to defend against cold, it would have been Lance. And yet, after all the trouble Lance would have had to have gone through to make the cloak, he’d given it to Keith rather than keeping it for himself.

Keith pulled the cloak tighter around his shoulders, smiling to himself. Red was right. He had nothing to worry about.

The longer Keith walked, the less nervous he became. Lance being there was going to be a good thing, not a bad thing. And there wasn’t a single person Keith had met in Arus he didn’t get along with at least somewhat, short of the Galra, which Keith doubted had received invites. The Arusians were all really nice, the Merfolk were great… He’d even gotten on good terms with Swirn again after saving her village.

By the time Keith reached Lovers’ Lake, he felt silly for having worried at all.

He stepped onto the ice, as solid as it was always intended to be once more, thanks to Lance. The dangerous slush that had nearly claimed his life was a distant memory, and the cause behind the broken ice danced excitedly beneath Keith’s boots rather than rampaging on the surface like she once did.

Keith kneeled low to the surface and pressed his gloved palm against the ice.

“Hey, Blue,” he greeted warmly.

The dark shadow beneath him wriggled happily and circled around him in as tight of a figure-eight as she could manage.

Keith had told Lance long ago that he had no reason to fear Red, that Red would never hurt him, that if a mount’s rider liked someone, so would the mount.

Seeing Blue so thrilled to greet him was the last push Keith needed to seal his confidence.

He didn’t need Lance to feel the same way he did. That wasn’t necessary to have one good night with him. Lance had been making Keith’s life a little happier every day just by being a part of it. All Keith needed to be happy was for Lance to be there.

And he was going to be. That was the whole reason Keith had decided to show up in the first place.

Newly determined, Keith climbed to his feet. Part of him was tempted to run to the blue double doors staring at him from across the lake, and the only thing that kept his pace slowed to a brisk walk was the possibility that someone may have been looking out to the lake through one of the chapel’s many blue-stained windows.

Keith climbed up the three short steps to the front doors, shook the snow from his cloak, and reached for the thick, silver door handle.

The door was heavy, and it opened slowly, revealing a small antechamber buzzing faintly with distant chatter, and within it, a tiny, familiar-looking Arusian.

“Hey,” said Keith, unable to keep himself from smiling. “You’re the baker.”

The Arusian adjusted his glasses proudly. “That I am, Red Warrior. You know, I never got to thank you for saving me from the fire that day.”

“You never had to,” said Keith. “Besides, if it wasn’t for Lance, neither of us would have made it out.”

“True enough,” said the baker. “All the same, let me be the first to thank you this evening.”

He reached into the bag he had around his waist and freed a bundle wrapped in cloth.

“You always bought the Yelmore Root Cookies when you stopped by my store, didn’t you?”

“Were those the ones that tasted like bacon and chocolate?” asked Keith.

“They are indeed,” said the baker, offering the bundle more insistently. “And I added just a dash of Juniberry Seeds to the recipe. Won’t do much to the taste, but it should give just a little bit of a defense buff for a couple of vargas after you eat them.”

Keith took the cloth bundle gratefully and slipped it into the bag under his cloak. “That’s...really thoughtful. Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do,” said the baker. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll announce your arrival.”

“Announce—?”

Before Keith could register what was happening, the baker rapped his knuckles against the double doors leading from the antechamber into the ballroom proper, and the doors opened, pulled back by two walrus-headed mermen. The buzz within the ballroom quieted immediately, and the baker raised his arms importantly.

“Attendees, it is my pleasure to present to you the guest of honor, the savior of our people, the reason we have come together this evening… Keith, the Red Warrior of Arus!”

Keith, whose train of thought had been replaced by a high-pitched hum since he’d heard the phrase “guest of honor”, barely took the hint in time to stumble forward clumsily, eyes wide.

The ballroom erupted into applause. Cheers and whistles echoed throughout the room.

Keith’s heart and stomach swapped places.

He got the feeling Lance may have neglected to mention a few things in his invitation.

_Lance._

Keith scanned the ballroom. He couldn’t rely on the color of Lance’s usual attire when the whole building seemed to be decorated in blue. He couldn’t rely on Lance’s height when the Merfolk were taller.

But when Keith did find Lance, when his eyes connected with the only truly familiar set of eyes in the room, Keith knew immediately.

He couldn’t look away.

Lance looked...good. His mage robes and his thief’s clothes had both been done away with in favor of something finer. The doublet he’d kept, though there was a sheen to it that hadn’t been there before, and for the briefest of moments, Keith thought Lance had kept the white sash from his thief clothes as well, but then he’d noticed the blue embroidery. The white, knee-length trousers and sandals had been replaced with black trousers and boots not unlike Keith’s, but the white in his ensemble hadn’t been removed, just relocated. Loose, white sleeves peeked out from under the doublet, ending at Lance’s wrists, where tighter black sleeves underneath stretched nearly to Lance’s knuckles.

He looked…

_Like a pirate,_ decided Keith, his brow knitting. _Like a very...very handsome pirate. And I...am...definitely staring, aren’t I?_

Lance handed the drink in his hand off to the person he’d been talking to—which Keith had only just realized was Coran—and he—

_Oh, no, he’s coming over._

Before Keith had time to worry about the state of his hair—which he was sure looked great, considering he’d flown in on a dragon—or what Lance and Coran could have been talking about before Keith had shown up—which could have been anything—Keith found himself yanked into Lance’s arms.

“You look _fantastic,_ ” said Lance, half-whispering into Keith’s ear, barely audible over the buzz of chatter, which had returned quickly. “I _knew_ that cloak would look good on you. And was I wrong?”

Keith closed his eyes, and a smile crept onto his lips. His knees felt weak, and for once, the weakness wasn’t something he minded. “I guess not.”

Despite Keith’s comfort, he knew he couldn’t hold onto Lance forever, and he pulled away, still smiling. “You look good, too.”

Lance laughed and rolled his eyes. “I look like a fancy pirate.”

Keith barely stifled his own laughter. At least Lance was aware of it. “No, no, it’s a good look for you. Very dashing.”

“More like swashbuckling,” said Lance, shrugging one shoulder, “but I’ll take the compliment.”

Keith rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Okay, but seriously, what’s this all about? You said I was invited to a party, but you didn’t say _anything_ about me being the…’guest of honor'.”

Lance grimaced, but his eyes still twinkled playfully. “ _Yeah,_ that’s because I knew you wouldn’t exactly be super likely to show up if you knew you’d be the center of attention.”

“I almost didn’t show up anyway,” admitted Keith.

“ _What?_ ” Lance grabbed Keith’s arms and led him toward the shadows of the upper level, out of the way of the main entrance, which was still letting in guests. “And miss a night of fun with your favorite Lancey-Lance?”

Keith laughed. “I’m not exactly the social butterfly you are. Red had to talk me into it.”

Lance’s smile widened. “You know, I wasn’t sure about her before, but I think I’ve decided I love that dragon.”

Keith shook his head. “You still haven’t explained _why_ I’m apparently the guest of honor.”

“Well, remember the day you asked me to be your partner for the Altea-saving gig?” asked Lance. “And you showed me that secret room with the conspiracy corkboard and all the pins?”

“Yeah,” said Keith slowly.

“And you remember me telling you that you needed to stop blaming yourself for every little thing that went wrong in Altea and start being proud of yourself for all the good you’ve been doing instead?”

“Yeah,” said Keith again. “You told me to get another color of pins for the people I saved.”

“Did you get the pins?” asked Lance.

“No,” said Keith, furrowing his brow, his curiosity wiping the smile from his face. “That would have made it too cluttered.”

“Right,” said Lance cheerfully. “You never got around to thanking yourself for all the good you’ve been doing for Altea, so I got Altea to thank you.” He grabbed Keith by the shoulders and turned him around. “Or at least Arus. Every single person here is someone you helped, directly or indirectly. People you’ve saved, people whose friends or family you saved, lives you’ve changed for the better…”

Keith raised his eyebrows, scanning the room, looking at every individual person. With Lance having pointed out the connection between them all, Keith couldn’t help realizing he recognized almost every face.

“What about the mice?” asked Keith, his attention on the four scurrying creatures on top of the table at the far end of the ballroom, helping themselves to the food.

“Three of the four are only friends of mine because you introduced us,” said Lance. “That totally counts as changing lives for the better.”

“And Chuchule?” asked Keith.

“That should be obvious,” said Lance. “When I learned my first spell, I had a panic attack and logged out in the middle of the woods right before nightfall. She wasn’t going to leave me there to get ripped apart by Draugrs, but if you weren’t there to help her, she would have been ripped apart just like me.”

Keith frowned. He’d all but forgotten about that. “Okay, what about all these Arusians? There’s no way I’ve helped all of them. There are too many.”

“Trust me,” said Lance, “every single Arusian here has a story about you, whether it’s about you saving their lives or their friends or their shops or...or just giving them gifts you probably didn’t think much about that meant the world to them. _You_ mean the world to them, Keith. In a world with the Galra and that black lightning stuff and a million other things that could hurt these people, you’re the one person defending them. Or you were, until I showed up. But you’ve got, like, a whole year on me. A whole year of being their only hope. That kind of thing leaves a _huge_ impact. Maybe this party was my idea, but I didn’t have to convince a single person here. They were all on board the second I brought it up. Every single one of them.”

Keith’s eyes flicked from face to face to face across the crowd.

“They’re all here because of me?”

“If you knew what these people thought of you,” said Lance, “you wouldn’t even need to ask.”

Keith turned around, and Lance’s hands slipped from his shoulders.

“This is...a lot,” admitted Keith.

“I know,” said Lance. “That’s why I gave everyone a talk about not overwhelming you. There’s a strict limit on how many people can approach you at a time, no making lines, no camping and waiting for the people before them to leave, blah blah blah, I’ve got it all figured out. I mean, I picked this venue for a reason. The Arusian King was all—” Lance squatted down and raised his arms in a ridiculous impression of the king. “‘Only my palace would be worthy enough for a warrior of such esteem!’” He stood straight again. “But I was all like—” He put a hand on his hip and gestured dramatically. “‘No way, seashell-head! The quiet tables on the second level are non-negotiable.’ Speaking of which, there are quiet tables on the second level. They’re all quartered off with, like, magic curtains that deafen the sound when they’re closed. But, like, just people-sounds somehow. Music still comes through, which is, you know, awesome. I went ahead and reserved one of the sections for you just in case. It’s the one with the red beads. You can’t miss it.”

All Keith could do was gape.

“I— The king? Is here?” he asked, despite a thousand more pertinent questions running through his head.

“Yeah!” said Lance eagerly. “You helped _way_ too many of his people for him not to be here, man. Look, he’s over there schmoozing with Sage Luxia.”

Keith turned around and searched the crowd. Sure enough, he saw the top of a spiraling horn that barely came up past Sage Luxia’s knee.

“I’m not going to be able to talk to everyone here,” said Keith faintly.

“They know that,” said Lance. “It’s a first come first serve thing. Like I said, I already talked to everyone about boundaries. Everyone getting to talk to you and shower you with gifts was never a priority. It’s just celebrating you. Everyone having the time of their lives in your honor and...dancing and stuff.”

Keith hugged himself under his cloak. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

“No one said you had to dance,” said Lance. “Just sit at a table with a drink and chill out the whole time if you want. You don’t have to do _anything_ you don’t want to do. This night is all about you.”

“But—”

Lance reached up and held Keith’s face.

Keith felt his heart stop. It was far from the first time Lance had done that to him, but it _was_ the first time Keith understood why it had happened.

“Stop trying to find reasons to hate this,” said Lance, his blue eyes wide and beautiful and just inches from Keith’s own. “I’ve got all bases covered. I know what you like. You’re going to have the best night you’ve ever had. I made sure of it. Understand?”

Keith nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak.

“Good.” Lance smiled and stroked his thumbs across Keith’s cheeks, blissfully unaware of the goosebumps he’d sent crawling up Keith’s spine, and he let his hands drop. “So what’s on the agenda first, _Red Warrior?_ Gonna grab some food? Change the music? I set it up so anyone can pick a song from the gem thingy on the wall, but you’ve got priority, which basically means anyone else’s choices go at the end of a queue, but your choices will always be the next song that plays no matter what. You can do that, claim a table, go find Coran…” He raised a hand to his chin and cocked an eyebrow. “...Chat up some babes?”

A sharp laugh bubbled out of Keith before he could stop it. “Yeah, I... I don’t think so.” He looked toward the shadows, then met Lance’s gaze again. “...Why did you say all of that like you planned on joining me?”

Lance raised his eyebrows, then averted his own eyes. “I…” He looked at Keith again. “...Do you not want me to?”

“No,” said Keith urgently. “Nothing like that, I just thought… This seems like… I thought you’d want to be out...in it.”

“I’ll probably start mingling eventually,” admitted Lance. “But come on, you’re my best friend in all of Arus. What, did you think I was just gonna drop you the first chance I got or something?”

“I…” Keith crossed his arms and shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

Lance scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Man, you really don’t get it, do you?”

Keith furrowed his brow. “Get...what?”

“Nothing,” said Lance brightly. “Nothing at all, you beautiful fool.” He shook his head and crossed his arms, still smiling. “Seriously, though, man, what do you want to do?”

Keith pursed his lips. He gave it only a moment of thought. “...You know what you said earlier about just...grabbing a drink and sitting down?”

Lance’s smile widened. “One emo corner chill-out session coming up,” he said, bowing low at the waist.

When he stood again, he thrust out his elbow toward Keith, and Keith, without a clue as to what Lance was suggesting, simply raised an eyebrow.

“Uh…”

Lance rolled his eyes again, his smile firmly planted where it was. “Just take the arm, Keith. I’m gonna escort you to a table.”

“Oh,” said Keith, as if it were obvious to him once it was explained. It wasn’t. “Right.”

He nervously reached for Lance’s arm, slipping his hand around the curve of his elbow.

Lance firmly covered Keith’s hand with his own. “All right,” he said, confident and warm and playful and everything Lance. “This way.”

Despite the faintest flash of irrational fear when Lance stood from their table, Keith was quick to realize that Lance had been serious. He had no plans of leaving Keith alone right away, as was quickly demonstrated when he returned with a pair of drinks that tasted like...soda.

“ _Yes,_ something else I know that you don’t!” said Lance when Keith had asked about the drinks. “It’s aerated with infinity vapor! I’d call it carbonated, except it’s not, you know, _carbon_ -ated. It’s vapor-ated. So yeah, basically pop.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Did you really just say _‘pop’?_ ”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Man, don’t even start.”

They fell into comfortable conversation, conversation that was only interrupted occasionally by the odd Arusian—and it was almost always Arusians—who approached them. Most of the time, they just wanted to shake Keith’s hand and give a brief, polite thank-you. Sometimes they brought gifts. Sometimes they were a little more specific about what, exactly, they were thanking Keith for. But Lance was right that it was never overwhelming, and he was always ready to pick up the conversation where they left off the second they were alone again.

But it wasn’t meant to last. Keith had been in the middle of telling Lance how he’d run into Blue on the way in when a pretty mermaid with primarily pink and yellow coloration appeared out of seemingly nowhere and took Lance by the arm.

“Hey!” greeted Lance, despite the fact that the mermaid wouldn’t have been able to understand him above water. “Aren’t you the pretty lady who k— Whoa!”

Before Lance had the chance to finish his unheard question, he was yanked out of his chair and whisked away to the dance floor.

He twisted awkwardly to look over his shoulder, his own arm pulled across his chest like a seatbelt, and he waved to Keith, a sympathetic smile on his face.

Keith laughed and shook his head. As he thought, Lance was the natural center of attention, and Keith was bound to wind up alone.

Or at least mostly alone. Before Keith had so much as had a chance to mourn the loss of Lance’s company, someone plopped himself in Lance’s unoccupied chair. A very familiar someone.

“There he goes,” said Coran brightly, crossing his legs and twisting the end of his mustache. “A natural born ladies’ man. The very spitting image of me in my youth.”

Keith furrowed his brow and sent Coran a skeptical frown.

“Hey, now,” said Coran, “I wasn’t always this old, I’ll have you know. And even if I was, I could still swing with the best of them.”

“Hm.” Keith’s eyes turned back to Lance, who had fallen into the crowd of dancers seamlessly and had absolutely no problems keeping up with the mermaid who had asked him to dance. Keith hadn’t been able to see Lance’s dancing when they’d crossed the bridge in the forest, but he knew it must have been something incredible for Lance to have dodged almost every arrow so perfectly.

Seeing Lance with that mermaid, regardless of whether the dance was likely simpler than the dance on the bridge or not, proved that to Keith. It came effortless to Lance, as easy as walking. And Keith…

...He just wished he had the bravery that mermaid had, that he’d been able to ask Lance to dance as easily as she had.

“Keith.”

The sincerity in Coran’s voice reclaimed Keith’s attention as fast as he’d lost it, and Keith looked across the table to find the old innkeeper watching him with worried eyes.

“I can’t help but notice you don’t seem very happy.” Coran rested an elbow on the table. “Every time I looked over here before, when you were with Lance, you were smiling. But the second he left…” His blue eyes turned to the dancefloor, then back. “If I might be so bold as to ask… Might the island you were so afraid of crashing into be here tonight, dancing with that pretty mermaid?”

Keith stole his eyes away from Coran and drained the remaining contents of his cup in one swallow, glaring at the ceiling as he tipped his head back. He didn’t like talking about his feelings. And definitely not in public, with the subject of his feelings so nearby.

Nearby, and yet so far away.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Coran.

He said nothing more, but he also didn’t leave. He just sat there.

And Keith got the feeling he wasn’t going to leave until he said something.

“...Look, what I said about the island...thing,” said Keith, just as irritated with Coran as he was frustrated with himself for giving in to such a boldfaced interrogation technique. “I didn’t… I didn’t think things were...the way that they are, okay? I was...feeling a lot of things, and I had been for a while, and I didn’t know what they were. Or… Or maybe I did, and the part of me that knew better was trying to protect me.”

“And those feelings,” said Coran softly, “they’re the kinds of feelings that make watching a certain someone dance with someone else difficult, hm?”

Keith scowled into the crowd of dancers.

“Oh, come now, don’t make that face.” Coran leaned across the table in the corner of Keith’s eye. “Do you really think he’s taking that mermaid seriously? They can’t even speak to each other. That boy couldn’t sign to save his life. I’ve seen it.”

“It’s not about the mermaid,” said Keith. “They’re just dancing.” He smiled bitterly. “What is he going to do, take her home? She’s just...numbers and brackets and a bunch of self-writing conditional statements.”

“And yet,” said Coran, “he still chose to dance with her.”

“She didn’t give him a choice,” said Keith. “She just dragged him off.”

“Do you see him trying to get away?” asked Coran. “Does he seem at all upset about dancing with her?”

“Don’t do this,” said Keith. “I’m not in the mood, all right?”

“I just want to point out that you _could_ ask him to dance—”

“Could you lay off?” asked Keith, the question coming out harsher than he intended.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Look,” he said, keeping his voice level. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to get into this tonight. I just want to...try to make the best of the situation I’m in. The last thing I want to do is make things harder on myself. I can still have fun here if I just...don’t think about it.”

Coran sighed, and Keith opened his eyes again to find those same concerned, gentle eyes watching him from across the table. “I understand. I won’t push you. But I do want you to remember that that boy cares about you a great deal. Perhaps more than you give him credit for.”

Keith reached for his empty cup. “Yeah, because he doesn’t know about me yet.”

Coran stood from his chair. “Perhaps not, but he’s still the kind of person to regularly put his health on the line for a bunch of numbers and brackets and conditional statements. He might be willing to take the necessary risks for you, too, if you dared to let him.”

He walked around the table and clapped a hand on Keith’s shoulder as he passed, but said nothing more, for which Keith was grateful.

With Coran gone, Keith turned his attention back to the place it seemed so keen on going lately, to Lance.

He’d moved on from the mermaid he’d been dancing with to a pair of Arusians, one stacked on the other’s shoulders. It was cute and childlike and the jealousy Keith had told himself he wasn’t feeling disappeared almost entirely.

And what was left of it vanished from the second Lance looked past the top Arusian’s shoulder and sent Keith a grin.

Keith’s smile returned to him as fast as it had faded, and he waved.

Lance, whose hands were occupied, replied with a playful wink that went straight to Keith’s chest, sending sparks flooding outward to every inch of Keith’s skin, raising goosebumps and standing hair on end.

It was bittersweet, how Keith’s emotions seemed to ebb and flow on a dime where Lance was concerned. Smiles became tears and clouds became sun. It made Keith feel ridiculous. He couldn’t think of a time in his life where he’d ever been so fickle. Lance had a power over him no one should have had. The power to make him swoon over a plant or let an important mission turn into a game of tag.

And the worst part was, Lance wasn’t really doing anything. He didn’t even seem aware of what Keith was going through because of him. He simply existed, and doing so turned Keith’s world upside down.

Every time Keith looked up from a person he greeted or a hand he shook, Lance seemed to have found some new, ridiculous way to make Keith’s heart work overtime.

Running through the mass of dancers with an Arusian on his shoulders while Coran rushed in from the other side with his own so the Arusians could high-five each other in the middle.

Somehow managing to challenge a mermaid to a dance-off despite not being able to ask verbally—and miraculously garnering a crowd so thick Keith could hardly see them.

Bending almost in half to be able to dance with a particularly elderly-looking Arusian.

Learning the steps to some bizarre dance Coran was teaching them, which seemed to involve slapping the inside of his own ankle at some point.

Serenading Sage Luxia herself with the words to the song currently playing in a way that included so much flair and razzle-dazzle that Keith had to bite his lip to keep from laughing when she met his eyes across the crowded ballroom and signed a desperate plea for an explanation.

Keith signed back the title of the song, immediately realizing why Lance had chosen to serenade Luxia of all people considering it suited her in an exaggerated, comical sort of way.

Luxia seemed to agree, because her eyes widened, and she raised her hand to her mouth to stifle an elegant, courtly laugh.

The longer the event went on, the louder it became.

At a certain point, with no prompting as far as Keith had seen, everyone in the building from the dancers to the guards at the door lined up into two rows, each person dropping what they had been doing in order to participate in what was clearly some kind of group dance.

Keith began to stand from his chair, having decided that was his cue to take Lance up on his offer of a quieter space upstairs, but before he could escape, two distinctly different hands had grabbed his own and started pulling him into the crowd.

“Don’t think you’re getting away that easy,” said the baritone potion seller, tugging insistently on Keith’s hand like a child.

Swirn, from Keith’s other hand, sent him a look that was somehow hard and stony without being unkind.

Keith grimaced.

He was already regretting his failed retreat.

 

* * *

 

They called it the Bii-Boh-Bi Reel.

From what Lance could tell, it was a bit like the Virginia reel, but designed for more people.

Lance was ecstatic about the idea.

Keith, however, just seemed nervous.

Lance met his eyes from the opposite row and sent him a cheerful smile, doing his best to cheer Keith up a little.

Keith smiled back, but there was a certain pinch to his expression that certainly hadn’t been there before.

Lance regretted not having waited a little longer before joining the rows. If he had waited, he might have gotten paired with Keith.

But the night was far from over. Lance would still have time to convince Keith to dance with him, he was sure.

Two by two, the dancers were led down the center of the two rows, swinging each other back and forth, spinning one another, and running arm-in-arm.

Coran and Luxia were easily the best dancers and they made for a shockingly synchronized duo. They worked remarkably well with each other, like they could read each other with a glance despite the vast differences in their personalities.

Klaizap and the seamstress were easily the _cutest,_ though. Lance had never seen Klaizap smile so much. For an Arusian, he’d always been oddly tense. It was nice to see him kick back for once.

Lance’s partner was the lovely Florona, the same mermaid who had kissed him on the cheek when he’d saved her in the battle for the Merfolk Village. He’d only been able to learn her name with Coran’s help, and they still couldn’t communicate, but dancing didn’t require words. It was a language all its own.

He met her hands in the middle and they turned, tangling and untangling in each other’s arms. Their footsteps mirrored each other effortlessly, and the rows clapped in time with the music and their sharp steps. Lance lifted Florona in his arms and spun her around, and the blue lights shined through her pink fins.

Her webbed feet hit the ground again and Lance took her arm to run her down to the end of the line.

In doing so, he caught Keith’s eye again.

He was just staring, the slightest hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. He’d been doing that a lot that night.

Lance threw him a wink as he passed, and by the time he and Florona had reached the end of the line, Keith’s turn had come up, and Swirn yanked him into their dance.

He danced about like Lance had expected from how nervous he’d been, but that didn’t stop Lance—or anyone else—from cheering him on.

Lance cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted down the rows. “ _Yeah! Get it, Keith!_ ”

Keith lifted his head, clearly surprised by Lance’s sudden call, only to trip over his own feet and send a chorus of well-intentioned laughter down the rows.

Even from where Lance stood, and even under the blue lights, he could see how red Keith’s face had gone.

Florona whistled a cheer, and Lance instinctively turned toward her.

Her eyes glinted and she subtly sent Lance a series of signs he could understand.

She pointed at Lance, made a heart shape with her hands, then pointed at Keith.

Lance sent a cursory glance toward the other dancers and pinched the air between his thumb and index finger. _A little bit._

Florona looked toward Keith again, then looked back at Lance and sent him a thumbs up.

Lance wasn’t sure whether that was supposed to wish him luck or say that he had good taste, but he sent the thumbs up back to her regardless.

Keith rushed down the lines of dancers with Swirn faster than any other duo had, one hand covering his face as he ran.

“You did good, buddy!” called Lance as Keith passed, and Keith nearly tripped as a result, only saved from falling on his face by the arm Swirn still had linked to his.

After Keith and Swirn, only two more duos of dancers came through. The potion seller with the baker, and the two walrus-headed mermen. When the two mermen reached the end of the line, the reel disbanded, and in the chaos, Lance lost sight of Keith.

He scanned the dancers, the tables, the darkest corners of the ballroom. No bright red cloaks. For a frantic split-second, Lance was sure Keith had left.

Then he saw it, a flash of crimson amidst all the blue on the upper level, only a split second before disappearing behind the silver, sound-dampening curtains.

Lance sighed in relief. Of course that was where Keith had gone. Being pulled into a group dance _would_ have been too much for him.

Satisfied, knowing that Keith would most likely prefer to be alone for a while, Lance turned around, only to bump into a pair of stern-looking mermaids, both with their arms crossed over their chests.

Lance froze. It was his worst nightmare. Two very tall, beautiful women he couldn’t communicate with giving him the dirtiest looks imaginable. He raised his hands in surrender, unsure of what else to do when any words he spoke would sound garbled beyond comprehension in their ears.

Swirn and Florona exchanged looks, signed sharply to each other, then looked back at Lance with steady, blank expressions.

Then, without warning, they grabbed Lance, turned him around, and pushed him toward the spiral staircase in the corner of the room.

Baffled, Lance looked over his shoulder.

Swirn pointed insistently toward the upper level.

Florona gave him another thumbs up.

Lance groaned. “But he probably wants to be alone!”

The mermaids stared at him blankly.

For the briefest of moments, Lance allowed himself to feel like an idiot for trying to speak to two functionally deaf people, but that moment quickly passed and he turned his eyes back to the upper level.

Maybe Swirn and Florona knew something he didn’t. Or maybe they were just urging Lance to talk to Keith because he had been blatantly transparent all night and they didn’t realize what Keith wanted.

But Lance knew what _he_ wanted.

His feet carried him to the stairs almost without his input. Every step felt weightless and oddly quiet. The buzz of the crowd seemed to have fallen away before Lance had reached the curtains that were supposed to block out the sound. He swore he could hear the sliding of his hand on the railing over the chatter, over the music, over everything else.

The ballroom looked different from above, and Lance paused just long enough to look down from the catwalk.

And for the first time, Lance fully realized that he’d never felt detached from the people of Altea like he did with the characters of every other game he’d played in his life. They really did feel like real people. Every single one of them. And they always had, from the moment he and Coran had first met.

Lance had to hand it to Matt and Shiro: They knew how to make an immersive world. Logging in every day felt less like playing a game and more like stepping foot on another planet. Lance didn’t feel like he was watching a bunch of fictional characters mill about. He felt like he was watching real people at a real party. And the only time he felt at all separated from them was in that moment, watching them from meters above on his way to find Keith.

But Lance knew he’d feel exactly the same if he _had_ been at a real party with real people.

Keith had always had that effect on him.

With a deep breath, Lance stepped away from the railing and continued his trek to the table he’d reserved for Keith.

Every set of curtains he passed was decorated with a different color of beads that hung down in strings from the top. Yellow, green, black… The blue carpet softened Lance’s every footstep on the way to Keith’s table, making the whole corridor feel warmer somehow.

When Lance reached the red-beaded curtains, he briefly considered clearing his throat, announcing his presence rather than intruding. When it occurred to him that Keith wouldn’t be able to hear anything through the curtains, that that was the point, Lance felt like kicking himself in the head.

Rather than giving in to that particular urge, he pinched the space between his eyes, sighed at himself, and ran his hand through his hair.

Then, tentatively, he parted the curtains with the back of his hand and he stepped inside, closing the curtains behind himself before he could disturb Keith with the noise of the gathering downstairs.

The second those curtains closed and Lance was left alone with the booth’s only other occupant, he felt every ounce of breath dragged out of his chest.

Keith wasn’t sitting at the table exhausted and irritated like Lance thought he would be. He was on his feet, his back to the curtains Lance had just come in from, bathed in the light of the red-flamed candle that sat in the middle of the table and backlit from the blue light seeping in through the translucent curtain separating their space from the railing on the other side and the dancing below.

And he was dancing.

At least, Lance considered it dancing. As close to dancing as Keith comfortably got. He swayed back and forth with the slow tune of the music, the only sound allowed through the curtains. The hem of his cloak dragged along the floor with every shift of his weight like a slow, gentle metronome, and if Lance listened hard enough, he could hear the faintest evidence of Keith humming along with the music.

For the first time that night, Keith really seemed to be enjoying himself.

And Lance didn’t want to ruin that for him.

Surreptitiously, Lance reached for the curtain at his back, fully intending to leave Keith be, but as distracted by Keith as he was, he held the curtain open just a little too wide for just a little too long and the drone from the party below wormed its way in.

Keith whipped around with a start and bumped the table with his hip in the process, knocking over the candle in the center, and Lance dove forward to keep it from spilling onto the table.

“ _Lance—_ ” breathed Keith, his hand on his belt like he’d instinctively reached for a weapon and found only his bag.

“Sorry!” blurted Lance, straightening the candle he’d just caught. “Sorry, I was— I didn’t mean to scare you or anything.”

“It’s fine,” assured Keith hurriedly. “I just didn’t expect you to be there.”

Lance cleared his throat and backed away from the table. “Yeah, well, I… I wanted to check on you. Didn’t mean to interrupt. Keep doing what you’re doing. I’ll just be—”

Keith’s hand was on his wrist before he could finish his sentence. His mouth opened like he planned on saying something, but all that came out was the crack of his voice.

His meaning was still clear regardless.

“You...don’t want me to go, do you?” asked Lance.

“No,” said Keith quietly. “I don’t.”

“I figured you came up here to get away from people,” said Lance.

“Yeah, but…” Keith frowned. “You’re not people.”

Mere months before, Lance would have taken those words as an insult.

But coming from Keith, understanding the kind of person Keith was, Lance knew better. He smiled, and he did his best to ignore the burning in his face. “Okay. Guess I’ll stay, then.”

Keith mirrored his smile, and Lance felt himself melt. “Good.”

Lance cleared his throat again and looked to the top of their booth. “Pretty, uh, cozy in here, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Keith, letting go of Lance’s wrist. “It’s nice. I like being able to hear the music. There isn’t enough of it in Altea. It’s...one of the things I miss most about Earth.”

“Yeah?” Lance reached for one of the chairs at the table and pulled it out. “Did you play an instrument or anything?”

“...Sort of,” admitted Keith, walking around the table to sit at the opposite side. “I did...a lot of things like that. Just ‘sort of’. Shiro was an artist, so I ‘sort of’ picked up drawing. Matt was a programmer, so I ‘sort of’ picked up coding.” He set his hands on top of the table and frowned at them. “...Our friend Allura was a composer, so I ‘sort of’ picked up piano. I used to go to her house before she moved away, and she’d let me use hers. I had a binder of all my own sheet music in her piano bench, all simple songs, nothing like she played. I was never that good at it, but...I didn’t have anything better to do.” He ran his hand through his hair, straightening it behind his bangs. “Sorry, you probably don’t care about—”

“No, no, I totally get it,” said Lance, leaning across the table toward the candle in the middle. “My two best friends—besides you—are both total geniuses. And I…” He sat back down. “I’m just me, you know? I could kick their butts at paintball or any kind of game that involves shooting things, but what am I going to do with that?”

Keith smiled to himself, then shared it with Lance. “Save me from a Galra kidnapping?” he offered.

“What, you mean five minutes before I get captured myself?” Lance laughed and set his chin in his hand. “Seriously, though, my two defining characteristics are ‘good at shooting things’ and ‘still not totally over that thing that happened in a river ten years ago’. Not exactly an impressive resume.”

Keith’s smile disappeared. “Well...for someone who’s still not over it, I think you’re doing great.”

Lance looked out toward the curtain separating them from the ballroom. “Heh, _right._ ”

“I’m serious,” said Keith. “I still don’t know exactly what happened, but whatever it was, the fact that you’ve been making so much progress—”

“Do you want to?”

Keith fell silent, and when Lance turned his eyes back to him, he found Keith staring, brow furrowed, utterly confused. “...Do I want to _what?_ ”

“Know,” said Lance, crossing his arms over the table. “About what happened in the river. The whole story, no details spared.”

Keith’s eyes widened. He sat straighter in his chair and scooted it closer to the table. “Do you...want to tell me?”

“More than I’ve ever wanted to tell anyone,” said Lance. “But only if you want to hear it. It’s a long story.”

Keith shrugged, and his smile warmed Lance’s heart. “I have all night.”

Lance covered his eyes. He leaned away from the table, took a deep breath, and dropped his hands to the tabletop.

“Okay, so it all started on a cold winter’s morning in northern Texas.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might not be much, but I've been planning this scene for a long time.


	34. Restore Previous Save

It all started on a cold, winter’s morning in northern Texas with the ring of an alarm clock.

There were few things in the world Lance McClain found more annoying than the obnoxious, screeching buzz of an alarm clock, and yet, when he sat up from his bed to smack the off switch with the flat of his palm, he wasn’t annoyed at all. In fact, he wasn’t even tired. He was wide-eyed, full of energy, and startlingly excited.

There was a reason he woke up at 6:30 in the morning that cold, winter’s day, a reason he snuck past his parents in his heavy winter coat, a reason he was more than willing to step outside in the dark and walk through the frost-coated grass to grab his football from the shed. A reason he had gone into the woods by himself.

The day had come.

The day he was going to surpass his sister, Veronica, in dribbling.

He’d always worked well with his school team, back in Cuba, but when he played one-on-one, he fell short. If only he could get that weird spin down, the same one Veronica did to get away from him before he even knew what happened in their last match…

Lance sat the ball on the ground and took a look around him.

Every tree, he decided, was a player he had to avoid.

The net was between that rocky incline and the long grass growing through that pile the leaves and twigs.

And the stream? That was the crowd of spectators cheering his name.

He swore he could hear them.

_Lance! Lance! Lance! Lance!_

With a confident grin, Lance set the sole of his foot on top of the ball and rolled it back and forth over the few inches beneath him. Then he started dribbling.

He wove between the trees as a warm-up, concentrating on the way it felt to kick the ball around in the woods. It was different from playing on a field. The earth beneath him was bumpy and uneven, and a poorly-placed kick with too much enthusiasm could send the ball flying up rather than forward. He learned quickly to keep the ball as close to him as possible, in his shadow at all times. His dad had always told him to do that in any situation, and with the change in environment, he could see what his dad meant. It gave him much better control, enough for him to weave between his imaginary opponents in a flash, and just that made his attempts at copying his sister a dozen times more successful.

It started with feinting to one side. He could remember that. Then she stopped the ball with the sole of her foot like so, and she—

“ _No, wait—_ ”

Lance lost control of the ball instantaneously. It slipped out from under his foot and rolled behind him, resulting in Lance performing an awkward, unbalanced, one-legged hopping dance to pull it back.

“ _Okay, so that didn’t work,_ ” mumbled Lance, picking up his dribbling where he’d left off. _“Maybe if I— Mattresses!_ ”

Again, Lance had attempted his sister’s move only for the ball to slip away from him, but this time, it was going to take more than an awkward sort of hop to get the ball back.

This time, when the ball had escaped him, it had rolled away with the speed of a startled mouse across a pantry floor and it landed in the middle of the stream with a soft splash.

Lance’s eyes widened, and without pausing for a moment to think about how fast the water was moving or how cold it was bound to be, he ran after his ball and jumped straight into the water.

Straight into the icy stream that would have no doubt frozen in the night if it wasn’t flowing so rapidly.

Lance learned very quickly upon stepping foot into the water that, when it was cold enough, water could feel like razors, slicing through his socks and the ends of his jeans and tearing apart the skin underneath.

And the second thing he learned was that smooth river stones provided very little in the way of a reliable foothold, particularly with moving water tugging at one’s knees.

No sooner had Lance stepped foot in the stream than he found himself entirely submerged. The sharp pain of the frigid water stabbed him from every direction imaginable, piercing his skin like a thousand of his grandmother’s needles and dragging him along the smooth rocks that seemed so much sharper when they were slamming into his back and driving fresh bruises into his legs.

He slapped a hand over his mouth, forcing himself not to breathe in. He couldn’t find the surface of the water, nor could he pull himself upright with the river dragging him along so quickly.

In what felt like an instant and simultaneously an eternity, the river stones beneath him stopped pounding against his back, but Lance was far from relieved. All that meant was that he’d been pulled into deeper water, that even if he could find the surface, he might not have been able to reach it.

But then he did. For the first time since he’d been swept away, he tasted fresh air. It must have been only seconds since he fell, but it felt more to him like an age. And as grateful as he was to breathe, the air was no kinder than the water itself. It felt even colder, and Lance felt as though the wind was trying to rip his face off. The only warmth he felt came from his own tears as he screamed and cried, and even that meager warmth was gone from him the second he was pulled back under the current.

A horrible thought struck him then. A thought that pierced through his panic. A thought that chilled him more than the water.

It was still early in the morning.

It was early in the morning and he was in the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere.

No one was going to hear him. No one was going to help him. And he couldn’t help himself.

_I’m going to freeze._

_I’m never going to see my family again._

_I’m going to die._

His head broke the surface of the water again, and he took another desperate breath of air. Despite his certainty that no one would hear him, he still screamed, he still cried out, desperate, pleading.

He was sorry he’d snuck out of his house.

He was sorry he’d gone off on his own.

He was sorry he’d been that caught up in trying to be better than Veronica.

_I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!_

Lance took another desperate breath, and when he did, he realized that the screaming hadn’t gone from his ears. Someone _else_ was screaming, loud enough for Lance to hear them over the water.

Frantic, desperate, hopeful, Lance turned his head, seeking the source of the screaming, and just before he was yanked back into the water, he saw it.

A blurry, human-shaped shadow running along the riverbank.

And then nothing. Nothing but darkness and water, water, water, water, until he emerged again, and he blinked furiously until the same blurry silhouette from before gained some semblance of clarity.

They were closer, running as fast as the water fought to carry Lance away, stripping their coat from their shoulders.

And they were yelling. Yelling in English.

The stranger ran into the shallowest part of the water just ahead of Lance, and threw their coat into the surface of the water, one sleeve held firmly in their grasp, the other just barely within Lance’s reach.

Lance grabbed onto the sleeve with numb hands and held on with all his might, the water still pulling at him, trying as hard as it might to steal him further downstream, feeling all the more ferocious when Lance fought its current.

The small person who had thrown their coat stumbled, and Lance cried out, terrified not only for his own sake, but for his rescuer’s as well, afraid he was just going to bring them into the river with him. He earned a mouthful of freezing cold water for his troubles, and he coughed unpleasantly as it hit the back of his throat.

The person holding the coat’s other sleeve managed to stay upright despite their initial stumble. And more than that, they began to walk backward, pulling with all their might, bringing Lance closer and closer to the riverbank. Once Lance was close enough to the edge of the water, his rescuer shifted his hands, keeping Lance in place while they climbed hand-over-hand toward him, closer and closer until they were close enough to touch.

Then the rescuer dropped down, kneeling on his own coat, pinning it to the rocks with his knees so Lance didn’t slip away as they reached toward him with both hands.

Lance swallowed hard, screwed his eyes shut, and released the coat sleeve with one hand, still holding onto it with the other. He reached out with all of his strength, all of his desperation, all of his hope, and two warm, strong hands no bigger than his own bit into his freezing skin like fire.

Lance opened his eyes, and he stared at the person that fought Death back for him, their face red with exertion in the morning light, a fierce scowl of effort pinching their features.

The numb hand Lance used to hold himself onto the coat slipped, but his savior just held tighter, their fingernails digging hard into Lance’s wrist in a grip that should have hurt if Lance’s arm wasn’t quite so numb.

With a grunt and what sounded like more English, the stranger pulled back, yanking Lance from the water onto the rocky ground.

Lance let out a cry, a mix of pain and retroactive fear for what had nearly happened, and he shakily pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Before he could lunge forward and wrap the stranger in the desperate, grateful hug he yearned to give, the stranger’s hands were on his sopping wet coat, unzipping it and replacing it with his own, which was still wet and cold in places, but nowhere nearly as wet and cold as the one he’d just been wearing.

His entire body trembled violently with a mix of sobs and shivers, and the second his rescuer had zipped the coat all the way up to his chin, he yanked them close and sobbed into their chest.

“ _Thank you,_ ” he whispered frantically. “ _Thank you, t-thank you, thank you, thank you—_ ”

“ _You…Spanish?_ ” asked the stranger, surprise in his—and it probably was ‘his’; they _seemed_ like a boy—heavily-accented and disjointed words.

Lance lifted his head, eyes wide. “ _Y-Y-You speak Spanish?_ ” he asked, just as surprised, but grateful beyond words.

“Um…” said the boy uncertainly. “ _I’m...Keith. Speak Spanish._ Uh, _Dad teach I’m speak Spanish._ ”

Lance stared, for the briefest moment.

Then he broke out into laughter. Stunned, hysterical laughter that shook his entire body just as much as the sobs and the shivers. And when the boy who rescued him looked at him with fear and confusion etched into his every feature, he only laughed harder.

He wasn’t sure whether Keith was sent by his guardian angel or if Keith _was_ his guardian angel, but either way, there was something just plain surreal about being saved by someone who knew Spanish, but only as much as the McClain family dog.

Lance rubbed his face with the dry sleeve of his borrowed coat, and his laughter hiccupped and gradually turned back into uneven sobs through his chattering teeth.

He’d almost died.

He’d almost _died._

Keith took his arm and pulled him to his feet.

“ _Come,_ ” he said in his heavy accent. “ _Dad helping._ ”

Lance nodded, and Keith wrapped his arm around Lance, pulling him into the warmth of Keith’s side.

“ _What’s your name?_ ” asked Keith, much smoother than anything else he’d said so far. Perhaps one of the first phrases he’d learned.

It took several attempts to form the word. “L… L-Lance.”

“Lance,” repeated Keith in a kind voice, urging Lance forward, forcing him to walk on his shaking legs. “Okay. _Nice to meet you._ ”

Another hysterical laugh escaped past Lance’s lips. It felt silly, using such casual formalities when he’d nearly died. When they both could have. But that didn’t stop Lance from returning the politeness.

“N-Nice…” Lance took a shaking breath and tried again, in his best English. Which wasn’t that great. He’d only lived in the United States for a few months, and he’d never had a reason to learn it before. “N-N-Nice...t-to m-m-meet you.”

Keith held him tighter and said something in English.

Lance shook his head. “N-No,” he managed through trembling lips. “I… Y-You Espa...S-Spanish, I...English?”

Keith’s grip slackened. “ _Yes._ ”

Lance tried his best to smile and used one of the first English words he’d ever learned. “C-C-Cool.”

Keith laughed, quiet but warm, and Lance closed his eyes. That laugh felt like heaven.

After walking for only a few minutes, Lance was greeted with the sound of music and the smell of smoke, and he nearly broke off from Keith and ran toward the fire then and there.

Before he got the chance, a man approached them. He was broad-shouldered, with kind eyes just like Keith’s. He yelled something in English, and Keith said something back, calmer, less scared.

Then the man hunched over in front of Lance to look him in the eye.

“ _What’s your name?_ ” he asked, his accent nowhere near as atrocious as Keith’s.

“ _L-Lance,_ ” said Lance, his chattering teeth just barely cooperating.

“ _Do you have family nearby?_ ” asked the man with kind eyes.

“ _I l-live upstream,_ ” said Lance.

“ _In the woods?_ ”

Lance nodded.

The man squinted toward Lance’s right, where the river had carried him from, then he asked to hold Lance’s wrist and took his pulse while asking a series of questions that all seemed very strange.

“ _Do you know where you are?_ ”

“ _Do you remember how you got here?_ ”

“ _How old are you?_ ”

Lance didn’t want to answer his questions. They seemed to take forever, and he was so cold it hurt, and he just wanted to go by the fire.

But the line of questions came to a halt, the last one asking for Lance’s mother’s phone number, and the man ruffled Lance’s hair, apparently satisfied. He said something else to Keith in English, and Keith tugged Lance toward a nearby tent. It wasn’t quite the fire Lance wanted to see, but at least it got them out of the wind.

Keith let go of Lance’s hand and found a bag in the corner, which he began digging through. He returned a moment later, a pile of clothes in his arms, which he handed to Lance wordlessly.

Lance eyed the clothes, then looked at Keith’s serious face.

“ _Clothes,_ ” said Keith, as if that answered anything.

Lance just frowned.

Keith pushed them toward him a little more insistently. “ _Take—_ ” He raised his voice and shouted something to his dad outside the tent.

His dad responded in Spanish, something Lance could understand, but he was still pleased when Keith repeated it in his terrible accent.

“ _You can keep the clothes._ ”

Lance took the clothes he’d been offered and managed a quick, shaky, “Thank you,” before Keith turned around and let him change.

The seconds of frigid air on Lance’s bare, wet skin were torture, but Lance was more than grateful to be in a warm sweater and dry jeans.

Keith unzipped a sleeping bag and wrapped it around his shoulders before silently reopening the tent and leading Lance outside, finally letting him sit by the fire, near a record player that must have run on batteries, because Lance could see no other power source.

At first, Keith sat right beside him, under the sleeping bag with him, but something his dad said in a scolding tone made him back away, sulking.

Lance shivered in front of the fire, inching as close as he could without risking the sleeping bag around him.

Keith reached for him again, this time only with his hands. Not even his full hands. Just his palms, without his fingers. They were warm, too warm for Lance to find the touch strange, and he let his eyes close.

Then Keith’s dad said his name in the same warning tone he’d used before, and he pulled his warm hands away.

With a great deal of help from Keith’s dad, Keith managed to explain that he wasn’t allowed to get too close because Lance needed room to shiver if he wanted to feel better. Lance thought that was stupid, thought he was bound to get warmer faster if Keith was holding him, but he was too scared of getting worse to argue.

And besides, Keith’s conversation, however disjointed and strange, was enough.

They didn’t talk about much. Favorite cartoons—they shared a lot—favorite characters—which got confusing from time to time when they realized the characters had different names in different translations—favorite foods, favorite holidays, favorite movies…

Somehow, even though Lance felt strangely detached from everything, like he’d been so scared he’d woken up in a dream, Keith managed to keep him present. He was quieter than usual, and he wasn’t sure whether Keith would like him as much if he wasn’t so quiet, but he swore he was going to find out after everything was over with. They were going to be friends, even if they had to handwrite letters to each other and send them the old way, with envelopes and stamps. Lance was willing to do whatever was necessary.

“Your Spanish,” said Lance once he had stopped shivering quite so violently. “Get more good.” He held up a pinky. “Promise?”

Keith smiled in that warm way he did and hooked his pinky around Lance’s. “ _You...more English._ ”

Lance smiled and rested his head on Keith’s shoulder. “Promise.”

 

* * *

 

“I dozed off after that,” said Lance. “And...when I woke up, I was on my living room couch with four blankets and his dad’s jacket draped over me.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “When I asked my mom what happened, she just said that a man called her about finding me in the woods and he dropped me off a few minutes later. I asked her about the boy, but...she said there _was_ no boy.” He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Like I dreamed up the whole thing. Did I dream up the clothes, too? Because I was still wearing them when I woke up!” He shook his head.

“I wore those clothes every day I wanted to go right,” said Lance. “All the way up until I outgrew them. My mom insisted she must have bought them, but I _know_ I didn’t own a red sweater and black jeans before that day. I was more of a cool colors guy, you know?” He took a deep breath through his nose. “...My dad didn’t believe me, either. Neither did my brothers or my sisters… They all said I passed out in the river and didn’t wake up until I got home. They said there was _no way_ I was saved by someone my age. It became a running joke in my house. Every time I had a test or something, someone would always say stuff like, ‘Don’t forget to ask your guardian angel for protection!’ or ‘May Keith watch over you.’ _Every time._ And it made me so mad when I was little. I’m used to it now, but...I think my family took that as me accepting that he wasn’t real.

“But he _was,_ ” swore Lance, looking Keith in the eye. “I _swear_ he was.”

“And…” Keith frowned. “You think he’s me?”

“I did,” said Lance. “I was _sure_ for a while. Same name, used to live in Texas, same hair, same habit of saving people’s lives, same _eyes…_ It all added up, you know? Except…”

Keith ran his thumb across the side of his index finger, eyes averted thoughtfully. “Except I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Exactly,” said Lance. “If you spoke any Spanish, any at all, even if it was just a few numbers…I’d still think you were him. Up...until now when I’m telling you this story and you clearly have no idea what I’m talking about.”

Keith frowned, deep and unsure. Lance wished he could hear what Keith was thinking.

“...I’m sorry I can’t be him. I’m sure you could have used that closure.”

“What?” Lance scoffed. “Come on, man. You’re way cooler than some kid who saved my life when I was nine.” He reached across the table, past the red candle, and grabbed Keith’s anxious hand.

Keith flinched and looked at Lance with wide eyes.

Lance smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring. “Look, maybe early on I wanted you to be him, like _super_ early on, but I haven’t wanted that in a _long time_. You don’t need to be _him._ You’re _you._ You’re the guy who makes fun of me for worrying about my hair and watches me make a fool of myself with Globinheffers without offering to help, but who helps without complaining when he’s asked for it and wouldn’t even dream of making fun of someone for something he’s _actually_ insecure about even when anyone else wouldn’t hesitate. You run into burning buildings and jump off dragons in midair for fun and spend weeks trying to help people with their deep-seated phobias even when it seems like they aren’t making any progress and I’d _never_ want you to be _anyone_ else.”

Keith smiled, and it was humble and sheepish and Lance swore he could feel his heart swelling enough to squeeze into every nook and cranny of his chest.

“I’m _crazy_ glad you’re in my life, Keith,” said Lance. “And I wouldn’t give you up for anything. Even the kid who was my bi awakening.”

Keith’s smile vanished as quickly as it came, and he yanked his hand away.

“Wait…”

_Uh-oh._ Lance scooted back in his chair.

The best reaction to coming out to someone was always a _non-_ reaction, and Keith was definitely reacting. He narrowed his eyes and leaned across the table, frowning in confusion and apprehension and Lance didn’t like it one bit.

“You never told me you were bi.”

Lance paled. “Well, I guess it never came up! Why do you care? You’re not— It’s not a bad thing, right?”

“What?” Keith’s hardened expression immediately softened, and Lance felt all the fear trapped in his chest rush out of him with the force of hurricane winds. “Of course not. How did you even— Did you forget that Matt and Shiro were my best friends?”

Lance opened his mouth, and no words came out.

Admittedly? He had. Briefly.

“Look, man, you started giving me that death glare and I panicked!” Lance crossed his arms and turned away, sitting sideways in his chair.

“It wasn’t a death glare!” said Keith. “It was…” He hesitated, and Lance looked at him through the corner of his eye. “...Wait, if you’re bi, why did you act... _like that_ when I started changing clothes with you in the room? I thought that was just...straight guy machismo.”

Lance laughed nervously. “Well, how would _you_ feel if a pretty girl started getting undressed right in front of you?”

“Well,” began Keith, averting his eyes. “I probably wouldn’t feel anything at all considering I’m not attracted to— Did you just call me pretty?”

Lance’s jaw dropped. “No-no-no, no, don’t change the subject, go back. What were you about to say?”

“That I’m not attracted to girls?” Keith frowned, visibly puzzled. “You...knew that, right?”

“No!” screeched Lance. “I thought that was why you— Wait, are you not attracted to anyone or is it just girls you don’t like?”

“Uhh…” Keith averted his eyes. “It kind of...depends.”

“It _depends,_ ” deadpanned Lance before burying his face in his hands. Why did Keith have to make everything more complicated than it needed to be?

“Okay, better question,” said Lance, lifting his head. “Have you ever had a crush on a guy?”

Keith looked at Lance with wide eyes, and Lance could tell he was trying to speak, but all that came out was strangled air.

He covered his mouth, and Lance snickered.

“What was _that?_ ”

“It’s a yes, okay?” Keith pressed his hands against the top of the table and stood from his chair. “That was a— It’s an embarrassing question to answer, all right? Yes, I’ve had a crush on a guy before.”

Lance smirked. “Man, you are _really shy,_ aren’t you?”

Keith hid behind his hand under the pretense of fixing his bangs. It might have been a halfway decent facade if not for the fact he’d gone completely silent. Well, that and Lance knowing Keith well enough to know he’d never cared what his hair looked like once in his life.

Beyond the silver curtains, the song changed, and Lance stood from his chair.

“You know what?” He walked around the table. “I’ve danced with almost everyone here, but I still haven’t danced with the best-looking person in the room, and that’s just shameful.”

“Uh-huh. And who’s that?” grumbled Keith, still falsely straightening his bangs. “Yourself?”

“Oh, _come on,_ ” whined Lance. “I don’t have _that_ much of an ego! Man, you make it _really hard_ to fl— Look.” He took a deep breath and offered his hand.

Keith lowered his arm from his face and stared at the proffered hand with the same expression Lance had seen on his face when he’d tried to figure out the Go Fish puzzle. Then the realization must have hit him, because every muscle in his face slackened, save for his slowly widening eyes.

“...Oh.”

“Pretty please?” begged Lance, childlike and half-teasing.

Keith’s eyes flickered from the hand to Lance’s face and back again. Then, carefully, like he was reaching for the sharp end of a sword rather than a hand, he touched Lance’s palm with the gentlest feather-light brush of his fingertips.

Lance turned his hand under Keith’s until they slotted together like puzzle pieces, two links in a chain, and he led Keith away from the table to an open space just a few footsteps away. A place where they had room to dance.

“I, uh... “ Keith looked at the floor, then back at Lance’s face. “I’m...not very good at this.”

Lance took Keith’s hand and coaxed it onto his shoulder.

“Then let me lead.”

Keith met his eyes, mouth pressed into a hard line, his brow furrowed with determination.

Lance almost laughed. “Loosen up a little. I’m going to start thinking you hate me again.”

“I _don’t,_ ” said Keith firmly. “I just… I’m going to wind up stepping on your feet or something.”

“Only if you let your nerves get the better of you,” said Lance, lowering his hand to Keith’s waist. “It’s not as hard as you’re making it out to be. It’s just dancing.”

“To _you_ it’s ‘just dancing’,” said Keith. “You’re _good_ at it. To me, it’s… I’m not used to it like you are.”

“So we’ll take it slow,” said Lance. “I mean, you can do a simple box step, right?”

“No,” said Keith, his irritation already clear and present. “Unless you count what happened a few minutes ago, I’ve _never danced before._ ”

“You’re kidding,” said Lance. He sighed and pulled Keith closer with the hand on his waist, earning a quiet huff of nervous protest. “Then allow me the honor of being the first to sweep you off your feet.”

Dancing with Keith was like dancing with someone who had just woken up to find they had a different number of legs than they had when they’d gone to sleep. He was stiff and kept stumbling and glaring down at his toes.

“This is stupid,” he grumbled, grinding their dance—if it could be called that—to a halt. “I’m terrible at this.”

“Yeah, you kind of are,” teased Lance. “But I’m pretty sure I know how to fix it.”

“I’ll try anything,” said Keith, harsh and impatient.

“Great,” said Lance, taking his hand off Keith’s waist. “Then you won’t mind if I do this.”

He grasped Keith’s chin from underneath and gently tilted it upward until Keith’s eyes met his, wide and uncertain. The faintest shimmer of white teeth glinted from between his parted lips, catching the candlelight.

“There,” whispered Lance. “I’d say that’s _much_ better. How about you? What do you think?”

He returned his hand to Keith’s waist and pulled him in closer, until their chests nearly touched.

Keith went as rigid as a board, and he made a sound like he’d just been hit in the back of the neck by a water balloon.

“Seriously, Keith, _loosen up._ ” Lance smirked. “And stop staring at your feet. You’re not doing yourself any favors.”

Keith swallowed hard enough for Lance to hear it. “...Okay.”

“ _Okay,_ ” echoed Lance. “You good?”

“Yep,” said Keith in a tone that wasn’t entirely convincing.

“You sure?” asked Lance.

“Yeah,” said Keith in the very same tone. His eyes were still flicking downward despite their feet being all but impossible to see with how they were standing. “Yeah, I’m f...fine.”

“Seriously, man,” whispered Lance, ducking his head. “I know I kind of begged you, but we don’t actually have to dance if it’s making you uncomfortable.”

“Trust me,” said Keith, his gaze connecting with Lance’s once more. “It’s not that, I’m just…”

“Nervous?” offered Lance.

“...Going to mess something up,” said Keith, his eyebrows drawing together, his voice faint and raspy and utterly pathetic-sounding.

“No, you’re not,” whispered Lance. “You’ve got to stop thinking like that, buddy. That’s half the point of tonight in the first place. Look, I don’t actually care if you step on my feet or if your rhythm is practically nonexistent or whatever. Elbow me in the face. Knee me in the groin. I don’t care! I mean…” He took his hand away from Keith’s and distractedly pressed it to his forehead. “I’d probably need to take a moment, but… Look, the important thing is, I want to be with you. Full stop.”

He met Keith’s eyes again, and though they were still clearly worried, the fear in the flicker of the red firelight had dwindled, at least somewhat. His gaze was softer, not so wide.

“You never struck me as the patient type,” he whispered.

Lance took his hand with a crooked smile. “Well, that’s because I’m not. But...I’ve kind of noticed something about you. Something that deserves the occasional exception.”

Keith knitted his brow.

Lance leaned in closer and spoke like he was sharing a secret. “You’re actually pretty incredible when I let you be.”

Keith’s eyes snapped open wide, but before he could say a word, Lance took a step back and pulled him back into the music.

Keith’s dancing improved drastically. He was still clearly a beginner, there was no denying that, but he didn’t move like there were boulders tied to his feet anymore. He kept his chin up, and a smile had crept onto his face, but his eyes...they were so intense that Lance almost shied away from his gaze. Lance swore Keith could see right into his soul.

But, honestly, Lance wanted him to see it. Keith deserved every part of him. More than anyone else in the world ever had.

The song they had been dancing to ended, and the next song wore a different tone. It was warmer, softer, slower, and Lance met Keith’s eyes warily.

Keith looked just as nervous as he felt.

“You, um…” Keith cleared his throat. “You really are a great dancer.”

“Like you would know,” teased Lance, though even he noticed that the fire that would normally accompany such a biting remark was turned down low, less searing, more like a candle.

Keith looked down at his feet again, for the first time in several minutes, then back up. “I’m getting better.”

“Yeah,” said Lance. “You are.”

It was astonishing how quickly things had become awkward just because of a shift in music.

“Are we...stopping?” asked Keith.

“We _have_ stopped,” said Lance.

“No, I mean…” Keith rolled his eyes. “I mean are we _done?_ ”

“Do you want to be done?” asked Lance.

Keith held his gaze, focus unwavering. Lance swore his dark eyes had put him under a spell.

“No,” he whispered.

“Me neither,” breathed Lance.

“Okay,” said Keith. “So...what do we…?”

Lance laughed breathlessly. He had no idea how someone so clueless could be capable of doing so many things to his heart.

He slid the hand around Keith’s waist to the small of his back and pulled him closer, until Keith’s arm slid naturally around the back of his neck. The longer steps of the box step Lance had led Keith into before were replaced by steps that barely left the ground at all.

“Okay,” said Keith softly. “That’s...easy. Why weren’t we doing this before?”

“ _Because—_ ” Lance hesitated. _Because I wasn’t ready for it. I’m not sure I’m ready now._ “Because it was the wrong kind of song.”

“Right,” said Keith, squeezing Lance’s hand and sending that squeeze down his arm into his heart.

As close as they were, Lance could detect the faintest change in Keith’s smell. He still smelled like flowers, but less like a hibiscus and more like a rose, like the roses Lance had used to dye Keith’s cloak. He still wasn’t sure whether leaving that last rose in the box was a good idea, but...well, Keith had worn the cloak, right? That had to be a good sign.

Keith closed his eyes and leaned in closer, until his forehead met Lance’s temple and Lance had to bite his tongue to suppress a whine.

_Oh, man, you really have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?_

“Lance?”

Lance nearly failed to find his voice. “...Yeah?”

“Thank you,” whispered Keith, his lips entirely too close to Lance’s ear. “For tonight.”

Lance laughed faintly. “The night’s not over yet, buddy. I could still ruin the whole thing.”

Keith echoed his laugh, unwittingly sending goosebumps down his back. “Yeah? How?”

“You’d be surprised,” muttered Lance, almost to himself, his eyes wandering toward the canopy of their curtained area.

“Yeah,” said Keith. “I would be. You’d have to do something completely unlike you to ruin everything you did tonight.”

“Like what?” asked Lance. “Setting the whole building on fire?”

Keith laughed warmly. “Or slitting my throat.”

Lance wrinkled his nose. He couldn’t imagine himself doing that in a million years. “How about stealing your Celestial Key so I can become a—what would a dark mage be? A warlock?”

“A phantom,” corrected Keith, amusement in his tone. “What if you pickpocketed me?”

“Nah,” said Lance, grinning. “Too tame. Oh, what if I invited Zarkon and he’s just being fashionably late?”

Keith snickered. “Yeah, or Shiro.”

Lance’s grin faded. “Would...seeing Shiro be that bad? I mean, you guys used to be really close, right?”

Keith sighed and pulled their hands in closer, like he was trying to hug himself. “Used to be,” he murmured.

Lance fell silent, a frown on his lips. He still had questions, but he could ask them later. Not when there was a chance he really could ruin the night.

He closed his eyes and he lost himself in the music, in the swaying of their joined bodies, in Keith’s warmth and his flowery smell.

“Don’t stop,” whispered Keith without warning.

“Don’t stop what?” asked Lance, turning to look at him, concerned.

“The…” Keith swallowed. “The humming.”

“...I was humming?”

“You hum,” said Keith. “Sometimes. Like in the cave by the lake.”

“I was humming in the cave?”

“I think it was the same song,” said Keith. “This one.”

For the first time, Lance listened to the song they were dancing to— _really_ listened to it—and he realized he recognized it. Easily. It was the same song that had been playing on the record player that day by the fire.

“Oh.” Lance took a deep breath. “You don’t get to listen to music much here, do you?”

“No,” said Keith. “It’s not playing in every store and restaurant like it is on Earth. I can’t go out and get an MP3 player or a stereo. It’s just...hard to find.”

“You miss it?” asked Lance. It was barely a question.

“I miss drowning the rest of the world out,” said Keith. “It’s just...a different kind of quiet.”

Lance held Keith closer.

Maybe it was time he attached new memories to that old song.

Lance closed his eyes and leaned in until his forehead met Keith’s. Feeling a great deal more self-conscious than he had when he hadn’t realized he was humming at all, he joined in with the music.

Keith sighed, close enough to Lance’s face that Lance felt his breath.

His lips were just inches away. Less than that. Centimeters, _maybe._

Every time Lance was sure he’d never wanted to kiss Keith more, Keith somehow innocently proved him wrong.

“...Keith?”

“Mm?” Keith sounded peaceful, content, almost sleepy.

Lance bit his lip. _Now or never._ “There’s something I’ve been… Okay.”

He broke away from Keith, and Keith stared at him like he’d just been stabbed by someone he thought he could trust. That didn’t make things a whole lot easier, but anything was easier than asking what he was about to ask when Keith was less than an inch from his face.

“Okay, let me—”

Lance turned around, closed his eyes, took a deep, steeling breath, and turned to face Keith again.

Keith looked a little less hurt, a little more confused.

Lance opened his hidden inventory, grabbed a small, intricately carved box and held it tight between his hands.

“So I’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” said Lance, beginning to pace. “Like, imagine how long you _think_ I’ve been thinking about it and multiply that by, like, fifteen. At first, it was just, like— We kept bumping into each other, you know? Might as well. But then we actually started becoming a team and I started learning more about you and I kind of— I realized there’s no one in Altea I’d rather be with, you know? We just— We work so well together, and— Oh, man, I knew this was going to be hard, but this is way harder than I thought it was going to be.”

“...What is?” asked Keith, sounding no less confused and no less hurt than he looked.

Lance took another steeling breath.

Then he turned toward Keith, dropped to one knee, and opened the box.

All the hurt and confusion drained from Keith’s face, replaced by pale shock.

And that wasn’t much better.

Lance took another breath.

“I already had Luxia bless the rings so all you have to do is say yes and we’ll officially be married—I mean in Altea, not in real life, obviously—also this is what I was doing that day you asked me why I had so much fire oil in my bag—and I mean it’s just practical because we’re _always fighting together_ and like what if one of us gets ambushed when we’re separated from each other because this way I’ll immediately know when you’re in trouble and you’ll be able to know if I’m in trouble and we can always just pop over to each other in no time flat and also Red will be more likely to listen to me and Blue will listen to you which could be really important in dire situations I mean imagine if one of us needs to go underwater for some reason like I’m not going to be able to do that but you will so it just makes sense you know and we’ll always be sharing experience even when I’m logged out which could be important and—”

“Could you be quiet for five seconds and let me think?!”

Lance closed his mouth.

Keith buried his face in his hands. His shoulders rose and fell with a harsh, heavy breath, and when he looked at Lance again, he wasn’t quite so pale.

“It’s not...easy to go back on this if you change your mind,” said Keith.

“I know,” said Lance. “I told you, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. There’s seriously _no one_ I’d rather be stuck with. ...Stuck with sounds bad. You know what I mean.” He looked hard into Keith’s eyes. “Even if Hunk or Pidge found their ways to Arus, I’d still rather be with you.”

“But you don’t even know me,” said Keith.

“Don’t give me that,” said Lance. “I might not know exactly what you’re going through right now regarding the whole...stuck here thing, and I might not know your past, but I know _you._ Who you are right now. Your personality and your moral compass and...and your _heart_. That’s all I need.”

“But what if you—”

“Stop making this about me!” Lance scowled. “I told you, I’ve been thinking about this for forever! I’m asking _you,_ Keith. Do _you_ want this? Because I do, and no amount of trying to talk me out of it is going to change that!”

Keith’s protests ceased at once.

Lance waited. He watched the uncertainty rise and fall in the indigo of Keith’s eyes. He swore he could follow Keith’s train of thought.

“...I still think you’re crazy,” said Keith after what felt like an eternity. “But...I guess we’re both crazy.”

“Is that a yes?” asked Lance.

Keith sighed, and a small but genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I can’t...think of any reason to say no.”

Lance leapt off the floor, beaming, and he took one of the two silver rings out of the box before handing the box to Keith.

“Give me your left hand,” said Lance.

Keith obliged, and Lance slid the ring onto his ring finger. Like any other item in Altea, it fit perfectly despite not being sized.

Keith raised his eyebrows at the ring.

“Something wrong?” asked Lance, his smile shrinking.

“No, it’s just…” Keith furrowed his brow. “I never thought I’d see...this. In the real world _or_ in Altea.”

“Welcome to married life,” said Lance. “Well…” He offered his left hand. “As soon as you reciprocate.”

Keith glanced at the box in his hand. “Right.”

He slid the ring onto Lance’s ring finger, and the second it was in place, both of their rings began to glow white. When the glow faded, there were jewels inlaid in both of their rings, ruby and sapphire, wrapped around each other like Yin and Yang.

Lance felt his smile turn fond. “Perfect. Now we’re officially—”

A very large, golden bell appeared over their heads and rang out, deafeningly loud, like they were standing underneath a church bell.

Both Lance and Keith fell to their knees. Keith dropped the box the rings were in to cover his ears.

“AGH! What the hell?!”

“Geez—”

“Man, there is _no way_ it’s supposed to be that loud! That’s a glitch! It has to be! Crying out loud…”

The bell vanished, and Lance was still holding his head when Keith rose to his feet.

“You okay?” asked Keith, kind and warm as always.

“Yeah,” grumbled Lance. “My entire _head_ is ringing now, though.”

“Same here,” said Keith, offering his hand.

Lance took it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

“Good thing everyone here knows sign language,” he grumbled. “I think I’m deaf now. Either that or the music stopped.”

“Uh, Lance?” Keith frowned and looked in the direction of the ballroom. “I think the music _did_ stop.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. Sure enough, he couldn’t hear a thing. Not even the faintest evidence of a melody.

Warily, Lance pulled the curtains back. There was no din of conversation like there had been before.

And what was more, the whole ballroom was staring up at their booth.

Lance raised an eyebrow, his mind racing to figure out exactly what was happening.

Then, all at once, he understood, and he turned around to grin at Keith, playful and challenging.

Keith recoiled warily. “What?”

Lance responding by yanking on their still-joined hands and pulling him to the balcony, where they were both visible to most everyone in the ballroom, and he raised their joined hands toward the ceiling.

“He said yes!”

The whole ballroom erupted into a great roar of cheers and whistles and stomps and applause, and through all of it, Lance somehow heard a laugh from his left.

He turned toward Keith, who was bright red with mirth, his free hand covering the upper half of his face. He laughed freely, just as freely as the day they tumbled into Chulatt’s garden. And Lance wasn’t so sure the music had stopped anymore, because Keith’s laughter was the most musical sound he’d ever heard.

“Hey.” He tugged on Keith’s hand.

Keith looked at him, still smiling, stifling laughter. “Yeah?”

“How do you feel about getting out of here, _muffin?_ ”

Keith snorted. Honestly _snorted._ It was adorable. “Only if you never call me that again.”

Lance let the curtains fall closed, wrapping them once again in silence. “Works for me.”

 


	35. Non-Player Character

Keith could no easier stop himself from staring at Lance as he could stop himself from playing with the new ring on his left hand.

He was humming again, but it was different from before. Not nearly as melancholy. Far from it. It was cheerful, and his blue eyes caught the moonlight like it was what they were made to do.

Lance’s eyes fell from the moon to Keith, and his smile turned to a playful smirk.

“What are you looking at?”

Keith averted his eyes. “You look happy, that’s all.”

“I _am_ happy,” said Lance. “ _Very_ happy. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Zarkon’s still at large,” offered Keith through a smile.

“We’ll kick his butt,” said Lance, overflowing with confidence.

“And winter’s coming fast,” said Keith.

“It’s not here yet,” said Lance, no less bright.

Keith shook his head, smiling to himself. He wished he could be more like Lance sometimes. Carefree.

“What about you?” asked Lance. “Are you happy?”

Keith opened his mouth, fully intending to point out that just because Lance was fine with Zarkon running around like he owned the place didn’t mean everyone did, or that he was still stuck in Altea with no chance for escape, but the words refused to form.

Instead, all Keith could say was, “Yeah. I am.”

“Good,” said Lance cheerfully.

They reached Keith’s front door, and Keith pulled it open.

“Come on.” He led the way inside. “It’s warmer in here.”

Keith shed his silk cloak and carefully draped it over the back of a chair at his table before turning his attention to the fireplace. It was warm enough in the house, yes, but it could still stand to be warmer. He grabbed a bottle of Fire Oil off the mantle and sparked a small flame to life with his knife before feeding the flame with one of the logs in the nearby pile.

“You kept the rose?”

Keith stood from the fireplace and turned around. He found Lance by the table, his wide eyes on the blue vase in the center and the red rose it carried.

“...Was I not supposed to?” asked Keith, an uncomfortable warmth crawling up his neck from his chest.

“No, no!” said Lance, his voice higher in pitch than his usual. “It’s _fine,_ I was just— I mean, it surprised me, that’s all. I didn’t think you would— I’m glad you liked it.”

Keith took his cloak off the chair. “I’m going to hang this up. It might not get wrinkled, but it still feels like I shouldn’t just leave it lying on a chair. Um…” He gestured to the fireplace. “You can stay here if you want. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Nah,” said Lance, his hands on his hips like he’d tried to reach for pockets that weren’t there. “You’re way cooler than some old fireplace.”

“Yeah, well…” Keith looked over his shoulder on his way to the stairs. “It’s not hard to be cooler than fire.”

“Did— Did you just make a _joke?_ ” squawked Lance, not far behind. “Pinch me, I’m dreaming!”

Keith smiled. “I’m not _completely_ humorless.”

“Oh, I know that much,” said Lance, trailing his hand along the wall as he followed Keith up the stairs. “I’ve heard you laugh, and it’s _amazing,_ but jokes from you are still _pretty rare,_ and I am _honored_ to have been graced with one. Even if it _was_ sub-par.”

Keith laughed, in too good of a mood to be genuinely offended. “Hey!”

“Hey, it’s cool. Not all of us can be natural-born comedians.” Lance reached around Keith and pushed the door open. The magic candle on Keith’s windowsill lit the room, sensing their entry. “Besides, you have to have _something_ you’re not good at. I’m just glad it’s something where I can pick up the slack.”

“That and dancing, you mean,” said Keith, throwing Lance a look on the way to his wardrobe.

“Nah,” said Lance, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re a novice dancer, but you’re not a _bad_ dancer. You have rhythm, you just don’t know what to do with it.”

Keith opened his wardrobe and reached for a hanger. “But I’m just a hopeless case when it comes to my jokes,” he deadpanned.

“Completely hopeless,” agreed Lance.

Keith scoffed and fastened the brooch of his cloak around his hanger, pinning it in place before stowing it away in his wardrobe.

Lance appeared at his shoulder and raised a hand to the inside of his door.

“Is this your Celestial Key?” he asked.

Keith stole a look through the corner of his eye, and his smile shrank. “...Yeah.”

“Why’d you take it off?” asked Lance, reaching under the silver pendant.

“I just…” Keith snatched it from Lance’s hand and closed the wardrobe doors. “I didn’t want to wear it tonight.”

Lance hummed thoughtfully and slipped his own Celestial Key out from under his shirt. He turned it over idly, catching the light from the candle in Keith’s window.

I was talking about it with Coran before you showed up,” said Lance. “He didn’t know what it was when I first got it, but when I told him what it was called, he said he assumed it was some kind of a...a super version of a one-time use item you can find in Altea. Terrestrial Keys? They sound pretty handy in a pinch. Powering up weapons, changing your class, targeting party members and changing _their_ classes… I mean, the Galra would have to be pretty dumb to take on so many people at once, but if they _did_ show up at the party, I know I’d feel a _little_ more confident knowing I was wearing mine.”

“Look,” snapped Keith, “I just didn’t want Shiro and Matt hanging around my neck tonight, all right?”

Lance widened his eyes, clearly hurt, and Keith’s guilt from losing his temper hit him like a freight train.

“Sorry, I…” Keith sat on the edge of his bed and buried his face in his hands. “...Sorry.”

“Hey.” He felt the mattress sink beside him as Lance joined him on the bed. “It’s okay to be upset. I know I struck a nerve there. Even if...I still don’t understand _why_ it’s a nerve.”

Keith dropped his hands and shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

“Sure I do.” Lance’s warmth pressed into Keith’s arm. “I mean, I don’t want to invade your privacy or whatever, but trust me, I _definitely_ want to know.”

“No, you _don’t,_ ” insisted Keith, the flares of his temper still smoking at the edges like the orange of still-warm embers. “It’s not a pretty story.”

“That’s exactly why I want to hear it,” said Lance, his voice firm, but patient and warm and everything Keith wanted to hear. Everything he was afraid to hope for. “I want to be there for you. I want to support you even when you don’t think anyone will. I want you to be… What’s the opposite of alone? I don’t know, _secure,_ I guess. I want to be able to prove that nothing you can ever say to me is going to drive me away.”

Keith barely recognized the bitter laugh that came out of him as his own. “You know, you’re not the first person to tell me that. The words were different, but the meaning was the same. ‘I will never give up on you.’” Keith glared at his wardrobe, at the key hidden behind its doors. “He lied.”

“You’re not talking about... _Shiro,_ are you?” asked Lance. “Keith, Shiro didn’t give up on you.”

“You don’t know him, Lance,” hissed Keith, eyes narrowed. “I grew up with him, I _thought_ I knew him, but I was wrong. I didn’t know him at all. Him or Matt.”

“Okay,” said Lance. “Yeah, I admit it, I don’t know him that _well,_ but I did _talk_ to him, and he brought you up, and…”

The embers of Keith’s temper grew into flames.

“Look, there has to be more to the story. Whatever happened between you two, he regrets it.”

The flames built higher, fanned by Lance’s ignorant insistence.

“I don’t know if he said something in the heat of the moment or just made a bad choice, but maybe if you talked to him… If you gave him a chance to _apologize—_ ”

“If I _talked_ to him?” Keith stood from his bed, shaking with barely-contained fury. He turned around to face Lance, hands curled into fists. “Lance, if he knew I was here, there wouldn’t be any apologizing. He’d just try to get rid of me.”

“What do you mean _get rid of you?_ ” asked Lance, eyebrows drawn together in an unsteady mix of confusion and concern. “Like... _get_ _rid of you_ get rid of you or—?”

“You’d never see me again,” snapped Keith. “It’d be like the Galra, but worse. I’d be gone, and you’d be the only thing left to stop the Galra from destroying everything in Altea.”

“How do you know?” demanded Lance, reflecting every glint of Keith’s flames back at him. “What’s stopping you from giving Shiro the benefit of the doubt?! You said it yourself, you’ve known him your whole life! What, he’s never made a _mistake_ before? What makes you think he’d actually get _rid_ of you?!”

“I know because he already tried to do it!”

Lance’s eyes widened. He went pale, and yet again, Keith felt guilty, but this time, it wasn’t enough to stop him.

“Haven’t you ever wondered why the Galra call me ‘Paladin’?!” he demanded. “Or why I haven’t hit my maximum level yet even though I’ve been here for over a year? What about why all the Galra know me personally? Why do you think that is, Lance?!”

Lance’s wide eyes darted across Keith’s face. “You—” He winced. “You’re crying.”

Keith turned around, hiding his face, hiding everything. “Who cares?”

“ _I_ do,” said Lance firmly. The mattress creaked. “Keith, I already told you my whole big, stupid sob story tonight. Maybe you should bring yours into the open, too.”

Keith scoffed. “You’d hate me.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” whispered Lance. “Keith, there’s nothing in the _world,_ outside of killing my mom or something, that could make me hate you. And if you think there is, well...that’s exactly why you should tell me. So I can prove you wrong.”

Keith glared at the wooden planks of the floor, wondering whether if he stared hard enough, he could just slip between them and never have to return to the conversation he’d gotten himself trapped in.

But even if he could, he knew it would never be worth it. Leaving the conversation meant leaving Lance, and he…

...he never wanted to do that.

“Fine,” said Keith, still glaring at the floor. “But I’m not good at words.”

“You sure aren’t,” said Lance flippantly.

“And you _are_ going to hate me,” said Keith.

“Let me be the judge of that,” said Lance.

_That’s up to the island._

Keith closed his eyes.

He took a breath.

“Fine. Just… Fine.”

 

* * *

 

Keith sat at the kitchen bar, staring at his glass of water in the low, blue kitchen lights. Sleeping had been impossible. He wasn’t sure why he’d bothered trying.

He’d lost his father.

And within a matter of weeks, he’d nearly lost Shiro, too.

Sleep? Keith might have laughed at the suggestion if he’d been in any mood to laugh.

“Hey.” A soft, but cheerful voice caught Keith’s ear from the hallway. He lifted his head and found Matt watching him from the edge of the room, leaning heavily on his crutches, a warm smile on his face. “Good to see you.”

Keith caught the implication in Matt’s words. He hadn’t left his room voluntarily in a long time, save to go to class, or...when he’d gotten that awful, awful phone call telling him his only remaining family had just been in a potentially lethal car accident.

“Hey,” said Keith in return, his voice low.

“You know,” said Matt quietly, leveraging his way to the sink without putting any undue pressure on his injured knee, “I should have expected to see you out here. I mean, after what happened to _my_ dad, I only left my room when I thought I wouldn’t bump into anyone.”

“I’m guessing that’s not why you came out here,” said Keith.

“Nah,” said Matt brightly. “I can’t sleep any easier than you can. I mean, I was the one driving, you know?”

Keith’s eyes widened. “What? Matt, you weren’t the one who ran the light.”

“Yeah, I know,” sighed Matt, struggling a bit to reach over his head for the cabinet without dropping the crutch from under his arm. “I mean, it’ll _pass._ It’s not like what happened with my dad. But that doesn’t mean it’s automatically easy to convince myself that there _wasn’t_ anything I could do if I just reacted fast enough or if I was better at driving in the rain or if I just let Shiro drive instead… The logical side of my brain gets it, but it’s taking a little bit longer for the emotional side to catch up.” He turned the knob on the faucet and ran his cup underneath, filling it with water. “But, hey, I’m preaching to the choir, right? I mean, that’s why you’re out here, isn’t it?”

Keith looked into the surface of his own glass of water. “Congratulations. You caught me.”

“You know Shiro wasn’t just saying all that stuff earlier, right?” asked Matt, making his way back to the counter a great deal more awkwardly than before thanks to the glass in his hand. “The only thing that would have happened if you were in the car with us—”

“Is that three people would have gotten hurt instead of two,” said Keith bitterly. “Yeah. I know.”

“Just making sure,” said Matt, leaning his crutches against the bar and lifting himself into the chair beside Keith’s. “And just as a reminder, I’m okay, and Shiro’s...well, he’s _alive._ And he’ll learn to be okay. He’s Shiro. I can’t think of a stronger person. So what if we’ve got a few new scars? We still survived.”

“I know,” said Keith quietly. “But…”

“It was scary,” said Matt. “Yeah. I know.”

“You and Shiro are all I have now,” whispered Keith. “If you… I could have _lost_ you, and if I _did_ …”

“You didn’t, though,” said Matt. “We’re still right here.”

Keith said nothing.

He took a drink from his water.

So did Matt.

They set their glasses down at the same time.

“So, about Altea—”

“No, Matt, we’re not talking about that right now.”

“Oh, come _on,_ ” said Matt, elbowing Keith in the side. “Now’s the _perfect_ time.”

“The perfect time to _what?_ ” asked Keith. “To immortalize everything I’m going through right now in data? I still don’t understand why you want me to join so bad.”

“Why _wouldn’t_ I?” asked Matt. “Listen, this whole thing really began with me trying to tell Shiro how I felt about him and chickening out at the last second. It started between two best friends, and then we got Allura involved—”

“Yeah, because Allura’s talented,” grumbled Keith.

“Because she was our _friend,_ ” said Matt. “And you’re our friend, too. We want you involved. Shiro wants it just as much as I do, trust me. He’s just more respectful of your boundaries than I am. I mean, originally, I wanted you to be one of our testers—”

“I don’t even play games,” said Keith, rolling his eyes.

“Exactly!” said Matt, gesturing wildly. “That’s why you’d be perfect! Everything would be new to you! That’s a really important perspective! But I know you don’t want to get that involved, which is why you’ve worked me down to accepting you as one of our characters. That’s, like, minimum involvement. For half of you. Or what will be half of you.”

Keith frowned at Matt. “Yeah, and the other half of me is stuck permanently in—”

“A world of fairy tales!” said Matt excitedly. He seemed to notice how loud he was being a half-second later than would have been helpful and covered his mouth, his eyes darting down the hall, toward where Shiro was still sleeping.

When there was no sign of Shiro stirring, he sighed and looked back at Keith, his voice lowered to a mere whisper.

“Keith, that’s exactly why now is a perfect time,” said Matt. “Think about it. If we do it tonight, you could fall asleep with the Voltech on and wake up in a world of dragons and fairies and magic.”

“Look, Matt, I respect what you and Shiro are doing,” said Keith firmly. “I really do. It’s incredible. Watching you two change technology as we know it makes me proud to know you. But this project? It’s yours. Not mine.” He barely managed a small, fond smile. “I’m not the video game nerd. That’s all you guys.”

“But it doesn’t have to be,” said Matt. “This is more than a game, Keith. It’s a whole world. You haven’t been involved directly, so you haven’t seen it, but the villages are more than villages. I’ve been watching communities grow. Shopkeepers and healers and soldiers and teachers and cooks and carpenters. They’re like families. The Arusians are a clan all their own and the Royal Guard of Daibazaal are like brothers and sisters. They’re not just scripts. They’re all sentient, they have consciences and they’re loyal and they feel love for one another. You’d have a totally different set of responsibilities, Keith. It’s not like, I don’t know, playing checkers every second of every day for the rest of your existence. It’s living, just in a totally new environment. A new life, with new responsibilities, leaving all of your old ones behind. You wouldn’t have to think about the economy or what you’d do if you lost your job or how well you’re doing in school for the rest of your life.”

Keith frowned.

None of Matt’s speech had reached him at all...until those last few words.

_“...how well you’re doing in school…”_

How well was he doing? Not that well.

He went to classes, but he never absorbed any of the information when all that was buzzing in his head was that he was never going to see his father again, that everything had changed in an instant.

Knowing that how he did in school had always been important to his father,  but wondering whether that actually mattered if his father was gone.

Knowing that if he failed, he was letting Shiro down. And when he had already put enough on Shiro by moving in with him and with Matt… He only felt like he was intruding, even with Shiro and Matt nigh-constantly assuring him that they wanted him there, that they liked his company.

If he could get away from that… If he could just live a life where he was more than just a burden…

“Say I did agree,” Keith began slowly, averting his eyes, drumming his fingers on his glass. “What kind of a...character would I be?”

Matt sat up straighter, and Keith swore his eyes were glowing from how excited he was. “I always saw you as part of the Daibazaal royal guard,” said Matt eagerly. “One of the Galra. Or, like, maybe a half-Galra? You’d get this knife that turns into one of the best weapons in the game. It uses magic, but if it didn’t, it’d be seriously OP. You’d protect Professor—sorry— _Emperor_ Zarkon, and you’d be, like, _kind of_ a bad guy, but not a _bad_ guy, you know? I’ve actually been thinking about some kind of event where the guard turns on him—”

“Would I just be doing a lot of standing around?” asked Keith, frowning.

“No way,” said Matt. “You’d be patrolling a bit, but, like, one of the first things any player would want to do after leaving their countries would be to try their luck against the boss of the game, and you’d be the first line of defense against real players once the game is released. And until then, like… The castle is my favorite place to hang out right now. Seriously, the guard is made of all my old teachers, and they’re all super laidback and fun when they’re not critiquing your essays. They just spend most of their time boasting to each other about their kills and stuff. Just a bunch of Paladins and Dark Knights hanging out, doing what melee types do. They go on hunts and have feasts—and they’d all be more than willing to get a new player accustomed to the world of Altea. You’d be the youngest, but that doesn’t matter. They all already know I’ve been hoping to load you in and they all love the idea. Especially Thace. I think he’s basically already adopted you even though he’s only met you once.”

Keith frowned, thinking hard. “And I’d be a...Paladin? Those are the ones with the shields, right?”

“You know, it shocks me that, as Shiro’s brother figure, you have to ask that,” said Matt dryly. “Yes, Keith, the Paladins are the ones with the shields. And you would be one, unless you’d rather be a Dark Knight.”

Keith took a deep breath and screwed his eyes shut. That was a lot to take in, and he knew it was only going to get worse. “...I guess I wouldn’t _hate_ being a Paladin.”

“Is that a yes?” asked Matt cautiously.

Keith sighed submissively. “I guess so.”

“Knew it!” cheered Matt in a whispered cry of victory, apparently having decided not to risk waking Shiro again. “I knew you’d give in eventually if I just kept at it! Come on, let’s go get you set up!”

“What, now?” asked Keith, putting his half-full glass of water aside.

“I did say tonight!” said Matt, no less eager. “Let’s go!”

Keith followed Matt back to his shared bedroom at the end of the hall, where Shiro was still sleeping.

Matt put a finger to his lips and crept into his own bedroom with as much stealth as his crutches would allow.

He returned a moment later with his fingers hooked into a pair of overlapping Voltech headsets and his laptop case hanging from his wrist.

“Let’s go to your room,” he whispered.

“It’s a mess,” admitted Keith.

Matt shrugged awkwardly. “Hey, I didn’t expect immaculate. You’ve been through hell and back. I get it.”

Keith led the way into his room, kicking clothes out of Matt’s path as he walked, and he sat on the edge of his unmade bed.

Matt took a seat at Keith’s bed and tossed him a headset.

Keith caught it more as a reflex than anything and looked at it dubiously.

“Just make yourself comfortable,” said Matt, removing his laptop from its case and powering it on. “It’s like dreaming. All you have to do is make sure the silver parts are touching your temples and turn on the power switch on the side. Everything from that point on is all in your mind. Or, you know…” Matt grinned and pulled on the other headset. “ _Our_ minds.”

 

* * *

 

“Everything from the rest of that night is in this weird overlap of memories more distinct than any other memory I’ve ever formed and just...haze and confusion. It’s like anterograde amnesia. Where memories from being a human mingle with memories made by a brain that wasn’t fully formed yet. I just have flashes. Being in a pitch black space with no walls or floor or ceiling. Matt being the only color or light I could see. Matt asking me questions. Conversation about topics I don’t remember. Laughter.

“And then I woke up in Daibazaal.”

 

* * *

 

Keith’s dimly-lit room unfolded around him like origami. Everything was red and gray and black, interrupted only by the faintest of purple accents. His quarters were small, modest, but still nice, intricately decorated, with a black wardrobe in one corner and a desk in the other.

Keith pushed himself to a seated position, slow, disoriented, and looked at himself.

He was wearing armor, armor that rested comfortably heavy on his shoulders. Like his bedroom, it was mostly black interrupted with gray and red, with a forked emblem on his chest. Hanging from his belt was a knife with a glowing gemstone on the hilt, and when he tugged at a chain around his neck, it pulled free what looked like a silver coin bearing an almost equally silver crescent moon that was only visible when it caught the light at just the right angle.

And when he raised his arm in just the right way, a large, black shield marked with red appeared in a flash of light.

Keith wondered if he would have felt more at ease if he’d been more familiar with video games, if he would have simply seen the new room and the accoutrements as the parameters of the game.

As it stood, Keith felt more like he had stepped into a stranger’s body.

Strange and unsettled, Keith stepped out of his quarters and made his way down the corridor.

At the end of the corridor, in what seemed to be some kind of cafeteria or mess hall sat dozens of soldiers in garb similar to his own. Some had gray skin, some had purple fur, some were catlike, some were more reptilian… All of them were tall, much taller than Keith, and none of them looked human in the slightest. Keith felt _incredibly_ out of place.

And then a man at the end of one of the tables, a man with purple skin, gray at his temples, and a trim beard—someone Keith almost recognized if he imagined him with black hair and much less purple skin—smiled warmly and climbed to his feet.

He began to clap, and like ripples in a pond, applause spread outward from him, reaching every alien-looking being it reached. Clearly, Matt had been telling the truth. Everyone knew, or at least hoped, that Keith would be coming, and they all welcomed him easily. More than welcomed him.

It was the first time Keith had been greeted with applause.

He wouldn’t feel that again for another year.

The second time was a great deal more pleasant.

 

* * *

 

It was a full Altean week—a _movement,_ Keith had learned—before Keith decided that he liked _anything_ about Altea. That wasn’t to say that he necessarily _disliked_ any of the Galra, but he was still getting used to them. No matter how kind Thace was, or how patient Ulaz was, or how protective Kolivan was, they were all still strangers. Matt was rarely there to act as a buffer, and from what Matt had implied, Shiro still didn’t exactly... _know_ that Keith was there yet.

Keith didn’t understand why Shiro hadn’t been told, but he assumed Matt must have had a reason, so he didn’t ask.

During a routine grinding session with Kolivan—the other Paladins of the guard took turns trying to get Keith caught up with their levels—a bizarre mushroom creature had doused Keith with a coating of highlighter green discharge that reminded him of snot. He’d tracked slime all the way back from the canyon caves.

“There’s a communal bath for the members of the guard down the stairs leading from the northern hall,” explained Kolivan without Keith needing to ask. “The water should dissolve the slime upon contact. You can use it to clean your armor as well.”

“Thanks,” grumbled Keith, still disgruntled, and he made for the bath.

There had been no need for him to use the bath prior to that day. He didn’t sweat in Altea, and his skin didn’t produce oil anymore.

But the moment he pushed past the double doors, he wished he had used the bath long before.

It was nice. Much nicer than Keith had been expecting.

Like everything else in the castle, the room was mostly brick red, but it wasn’t the decor of the room that caught Keith’s eye. It was the bath itself.

It was enormous. Easily deep enough to be considered a swimming pool, but with heavy steam visibly rising from it in thick clouds.

Keith stripped down to his undergarments, deciding he could handle the state of his armor in a moment, and he dove over the edge. He swam all the way to the bottom, touched the floor of the bath as if he’d overcome some challenge, then rose back to the surface.

He broke into the cooler air above, and as he floated contentedly on his back, his eyes on the clouds of steam above him, he realized, for the first time in longer than he could remember, that he was completely and utterly devoid of stress.

 

* * *

 

“Time passed. I got...comfortable, I guess. With Kolivan and Thace and the other Paladins. Even when Matt wasn’t there. He...stopped coming after a while, so I guess I had to. Either that or cling to his weekly update logs.

“There was a rivalry between the Paladins and the Dark Knights, but that was all it ever was back then. Even… Even when Zarkon joined the game.

“He wasn’t always...like he is now. If someone told me back then that he’d go from being competitive and talking about his wife too much to attacking characters—people—who did nothing to him...I think I would have just rolled my eyes.

“It was… I wouldn’t have called them my family, but I don’t know how else to describe it. We looked out for each other, we teased each other, we comforted each other. I was really starting to like it. To like _them._

“...And then Shiro showed up.”

 

* * *

 

Keith had been in the desert on the day it happened.

He’d just finished killing a Desert Rat, and had reached down to pocket the tail it had dropped when he lifted his head and saw a caped silhouette standing at the top of a sand dune.

Keith squinted at the silhouette, and he began to climb the dune.

Only when he was halfway to the top was Keith able to make out enough features to recognize who it was.

“Shiro?”

He hastened to the top of the dune, shock clashing with happiness clashing with worry. He hadn’t seen Shiro since he’d joined the game, and he was the one part of Earth—as Keith had come to know his previous home rather than “the real world”; Altea had become his reality—that Keith really missed.

But Shiro’s sudden appearance in the middle of the desert, and the stress pinching his features, said nothing good about the reasons why he was there.

“You _are_ here,” said Shiro, sounding tired, more tired than Keith had ever heard him. More tired than he had been after the accident. Like he hadn’t slept in weeks. “Matt said you would be, and Kolivan told me I’d find you here, but Keith was always so against it that I thought…”

“Shiro, what—?”

“You _are_ the Beta, right?” asked Shiro urgently. “Keith β? Not the real Keith?”

Keith wasn’t sure what to say.

He’d never felt like a fake person...until that moment. He’d felt like the same Keith who had grown up with Shiro and learned about music with Allura and stayed up late watching horror movies with Matt.

And all at once, thanks to a single question, it struck him that he wasn’t. The real Keith was out there somewhere, carbon and hydrogen and oxygen, breathing, living. And he was just...bits and bytes. A chunk of data in a server somewhere. Code on top of more code that could write and rewrite itself. Artificial intelligence. Artificial everything.

“...Yeah,” said Keith quietly. “I’m...the copy. Why?”

“Do you know where Keith would have gone?” asked Shiro, frantic, almost beyond reason.

“What…” Keith furrowed his brow. “What do you mean where he would have gone? He’s not—”

Keith paled.

Shiro’s expression suddenly made a world of sense.

“He...ran away, didn’t he?”

It wasn’t all that surprising, once Keith thought about it.

All that time when he’d been adjusting to life without his old responsibilities, his original self, Keith α, would have been continuing the same life he’d escaped from. In becoming a part of Altea, he hadn’t really gotten away from it all, he’d just created a duplicate of himself, made a vicarious escape.

All of those previous responsibilities, his guilt, his dying grades, they were all still there, just like always.

Just because one version of himself had escaped didn’t mean those woes had vanished.

And they’d been starting to crush him.

Apparently, they’d finished the job.

“So he wasn’t planning it when you were made?” demanded Shiro. “You don’t know _anything_ about where he could have gone?”

“No,” said Keith. “Sorry.”

“Think _harder,_ ” snapped Shiro. “There _has_ to be something, some kind of an...an _inkling_. A friend we didn’t know about he could have gone to. A place he always dreamed of seeing. _Anything._ ”

“Sorry,” said Keith again, unsure of what else to say. His mind was numb, still buzzing with the same words over and over again.

_The real Keith._

_The real Keith._

_The real one, not me._

_I’m not the real Keith._

_And the real one is gone._

“Where would _you_ have gone?” demanded Shiro. “If you were in the real world and it was you leaving, where would you go?”

“I don’t know,” said Keith faintly. “I guess I’d just...start driving.”

“What do you mean you’d just _start driving?_ ” Shiro’s ever-present patience, the patience Keith had come to know him for, was nowhere to be seen. There was nothing left but irrational anger. “What does that tell me? _Nothing._ ”

“Because I don’t _know_ anything,” said Keith, his own anger weakly breaking through the numb buzzing in his head.

“You _have_ to know _something,_ ” snapped Shiro. “If _you_ don’t, then— You’re _him!_ How could _you_ not know where he went?!”

“I just don’t, all right?!” snapped Keith right back. “I don’t know anything about what’s been going on outside of this stupid game since I was put in it!”

“Then why the sudden change of heart?” demanded Shiro. “What made you decide you wanted to be a part of the game in the first place? You never wanted to before! What was it?! What, was school really that hard?!”

Keith flinched. His hands itched for his knife, but this wasn’t an Altean problem, not something he could overcome by hitting it hard enough.

“You knew I’d find out about your grades eventually, right?” asked Shiro, his eyes dark and desperate. “I bet that was what it was. You knew you couldn’t hide it forever, so you hid a part of yourself in here, hoping some version of you wouldn’t have to deal with it, right? Sorry to disappoint, but I came here for a reason.”

“Yeah?” growled Keith. “And what reason was that? Are you really looking for him, or are you just looking for someone to yell at about wasted money and ruined scholarships? Did he leave before you got the chance to get everything out? Are you just taking your anger out on someone who has his face? Because that’s all I have, Shiro!” Keith wasn’t sure how long he’d been shaking, but he felt it through his entire body. “You said it yourself. I’m not the real Keith. I’m just a copy. That’s all you’re getting out of me. So if that’s what you came for, you came to the right place.”

Shiro’s eyes flashed furiously. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“ _I have no idea what I’m talking about?!”_ Keith’s hands curled into fists of their own accord. He wanted to punch something. “I might not be the Keith you’re looking for, but I still have his memories. I _remember_ how _terrifying_ it was to feel everything fall apart after Dad died. I remember how _isolating_ it was.” He felt hot tears roll down his cheeks. “If anyone that scared and lonely had to face _you_ like _this_ after all that, of course they’d leave! _You drove him away!_ ”

For a split second, Keith saw Shiro’s eyes widen. And he thought, maybe, Shiro was going to apologize.

But the anger came back full force just as quickly as it disappeared, and Shiro raised his hands, interacting with an interface Keith couldn’t see.

His hands hesitated, he sent Keith another dark look, and he reached for the ring on his left hand.

As quickly as he’d reappeared in Keith’s life, he disappeared, leaving Keith alone in the sweltering desert.

His knees hit the ground.

Then his hands.

He curled his right hand into a fist and he slammed it against the sand.

Again.

And again.

And again.

 

* * *

 

“And again and again until my stamina gave out. I returned to the castle, more tired than ever. And...that was the last time I ever saw Shiro.

“But it wasn’t the last time I heard from him.

“He sent me a message a couple of movements later. And it came through loud and clear.”

 

* * *

 

“Keith?”

Keith lifted his eyes from his bowl, but didn’t bother lifting his head.

Thace sat at the table across from him and offered a kind smile. “You’re falling behind on your leveling.”

Keith looked back at his bowl.

Thace sighed wearily. “Keith, something clearly happened between you and Shiro. If you need someone to talk to, a mentor, a friend...any of the Paladins would be more than willing. Maybe even some of the Dark Knights.”

Keith closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose, and stood from the table.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Thace. He thought the Guard was great.

But when Keith’s world had just fallen apart in clumps like wet paper, there was only one person he could imagine turning to.

And that person was the very one responsible for how he felt.

Without a word, Keith took his bowl and turned around, intending on returning it to the kitchen.

He only made it a few steps before a powerful pain seized his heart.

He clutched at his chest with a cry of agony and fell to his knees, his bowl clattering to the floor beside him. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard Thace call his name.

The world became a blur.

And then it went black.

There was nothing. No mess hall, no castle, no sound, no light. Keith couldn’t form thoughts. Everything in his head was disconnected, like bread somehow separating itself into the flour and yeast and water that went into making it.

It was impossible to tell how much time passed. A second, an hour, a month, a year. It felt like infinity and yet a mere instant all at once.

Then, without warning, the darkness broke, replaced by water in every direction.

Surprised, Keith opened his mouth, and the stream of bubbles that broke out of him darted in a clear direction. The surface.

He followed their path up and up and up until he broke free and tasted air for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

Gasping, coughing, he clawed his way to the edge of the pond and pulled himself clumsily onto shore.

He saw fog. Trees. A herd of Globinheffers.

And then he saw himself, his own reflection in the surface of the pond.

No longer did he wear the red and black of Daibazaal. No longer did he wear the sleek armor and the wide coattails of a Paladin. Instead, he wore armor much thicker and heavier in a dusty, pale blue.

Confused, he checked his status.

Ｕｓｅｒｎａｍｅ： ｋｅｉｔｈ

Ｋｉｎｇｄｏｍ ｏｆ Ｏｒｉｇｉｎ： Ａｒｕｓ

Ｃｌａｓｓ： Ｗａｒｒｉｏｒ

Keith narrowed his eyes.

Ｌｅｖｅｌ： １

He’d started over entirely, and as a weaker class. One of the four basic classes that were supposed to introduce new players to the mechanics of the game.

Just to be sure, Keith reached for his bag, fully expecting to find nothing at all.

But he was wrong.

He pulled open the leather flap, reached inside, and pulled out two items.

His Luxite Blade...and the silver Celestial Key Matt had left him as a symbol of authority.

 _Think of it like a backstage pass,_ he’d said when he visited Keith at the castle. _A way to see things most characters wouldn’t be privy to._

Somehow, Keith doubted _death_ was what Matt had been talking about.

Keith caught his own eye in the silver of his necklace, wide and shaken with the realization he’d just come to.

Someone had tried to delete him.

 _Shiro_...had tried to delete him.

He was the only one with a motive, and one of only two people who had that power.

Keith’s hands shook. He reeled his arm back behind his head, aiming to throw the necklace into the pond, to watch it sink to the bottom and be done with Shiro, and with _Matt_ —because there was no way Shiro would have been able to isolate Keith’s code from the rest and get rid of him without ruining the whole game unless he had help—but before Keith could send the necklace flying, his hand hit the mud, feeling a thousand times heavier, as if it had suddenly turned to stone.

He couldn’t do it.

Even if Shiro and Matt had gotten rid of him...he couldn’t let go of them.

He still loved them, both of them, far too much to ever truly let go.

 

* * *

 

Keith meant to continue, to go into further detail about the day he’d learned about the Galra paradigm shift, about the disappearance of the Paladins, about finding out when the Dark Knights changed their classes to encompass a wider set of skills to better take over the three other Kingdoms and essentially recreate the fictional war Matt had invented for Altea’s history, about dying for the first time and finding Allura β playing the part of Arus’ shaman, daring to think he’d found a real friend again, then finding the charred remains of her house and no sign of her character anywhere…

...but it didn’t matter.

None of it mattered.

Not after Lance learned about everything else.

That Shiro and Matt _hated_ him.

That Shiro and Matt had _reason_ to hate him.

That they tried to kill him.

That the reason he could see in the dark was that he was part Galra.

That he was part Galra because he wasn’t a player character.

That he wasn’t...real.

And knowing that Lance finally knew it all, that he knew _everything,_ had stolen the words from Keith’s voice.

And all that came from his mouth were the shuddering, breathy sobs hissed through his teeth.

He waited, shaking, for the imminent rejection, to hear something small and solid hit the wooden planks in front of his feet and to not need to lift his head from the arms he’d buried his face in to know it was Lance’s ring, or to hear footsteps leading from the bed across from Keith to the door at his right and a slam punctuating the last night Keith and Lance would ever spend beneath the same stars.

The mattress creaked.

Lance’s footsteps drew near.

Keith braced himself.

But nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to experience.

A pair of warm arms wrapped around him and pulled him into a solid, grounding chest. His head was tucked under the sharp line of a jaw, blocking out the candlelight and drowning him in shadow. A heavy sigh drifted over his head.

“ _Keith…_ ”

Keith’s trembling, if anything, grew more violent. “What— What are you doing?”

“Right now?” Lance laughed weakly, and he sniffed. Was he crying? Why was _he_ crying? “Hugging someone who _really_ needs a hug.”

Keith tried to voice a question, but he had no words to accurately describe his confusion and uncertainty, to even begin to seek an answer that would alleviate all of his wild disbelief, so all that came out was a raspy, high-pitched crack.

He tried again. This time, he managed a word. Just one. “ _Why?_ ”

Lance held him even tighter, and he laughed again, just as weakly as before. “I just told you. You need it.”

“No, why—” Keith wormed his arms free from Lance’s embrace and pushed against his chest so he could look Lance in the eye. “Why do you _care?_ I’m not the person you thought I was, Lance! I’m not even a real person! I’m just hex values and pixels and self-writing code and—”

Lance held Keith’s face so gently it left Keith speechless from the moment they touched. The tips of his fingers slid under Keith’s ears and just barely grazed the back of his neck. His palms, warm, almost hot, cradled Keith’s cheeks, the heel of his palm only just meeting the corner of his mouth. The world seemed to spin, and a fresh wave of tears rolled down Keith’s cheeks. Lance didn’t hesitate to brush them away with his palms.

Then, before Keith had the chance to acclimate himself to so tender a feeling, Lance dropped his hands to Keith’s shoulders and squeezed them firmly, his blue eyes dark and intense.

“Says who?”

“...What?”

“I want to know who or what decides you aren’t a real person,” said Lance, so firm it was almost harsh. “Because as far as I’m concerned, you’re just as real as I am. I mean, brains are basically just computers anyway. That’s probably how you’re here in the first place! Because Matt saw that and figured out how to turn, like, _wetware_ computers into _hardware_ computers. So what if you can’t convert yourself back into flesh and blood? Bodies are overrated. I don’t care about that. I care about your feelings, your experiences—”

“But they’re not _my_ experiences!” said Keith. “I’m not the real Keith! For all I know, the _real_ Keith could be _dead!_ ”

Lance glowered at him. “Look, wherever _that_ Keith is, he’s only as real as you are. You _both_ have memories of growing up in Texas, you _both_ went through college stress and mourning, you _both_ lived with Matt and Shiro, you both just... _lived._ And there’s nothing you can say or do that will ever invalidate that. He’s Keith ɑ, and you’re Keith β. There’s the version of you that had to face the life he was given and wound up running away, and there’s the version of you that found a new life in Altea. Not a fake one and a real one. Just...two Keiths who went in different directions. And I’m glad you split off when you did, because if you didn’t, I would have come too late, and we never would have met. I would have lost out on—” He hesitated, like he was looking for the right word. “...I would have lost out on a best friend.”

“You…” Keith hesitated. “I’m still your friend?”

“One of my _best_ friends,” corrected Lance, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And Keith didn’t doubt that, for Lance, it was. “What, you think I go around... _Altea-marrying_ everyone I meet?”

Keith shook his head. “But that… That’s just a game mechanic.”

“Game mechanic or not, there’s still a level of commitment there, right?” Lance’s hands slid down Keith’s arms to hold his hands. “And everything we just talked about? It changes nothing. There’s still no one I’d rather have for an Altean husband.”

Keith was speechless. Nothing...nothing on Earth or Altea...could have prepared him for how quickly and effortlessly Lance had accepted him. After how long it had taken Lance to accept him the first time, Keith thought...he was _sure_ he and Lance would start over from square one, from anger and bickering and frustration, and if Lance bothered to stick around at all, it would be for Altea’s sake, not for Keith’s.

And yet, there Lance was, that familiar crooked smile on his face, tears still shining in his eyes, his hands wrapped firmly around Keith’s as if afraid of letting go.

Somehow, Lance had done what even Shiro had failed to do.

He stayed.

“Why are you like this?” whispered Keith.

Lance laughed and bowed his head. “You know, I get that question a lot.” He met Keith’s eyes through his eyelashes. “Never heard it in that tone before, though. ...But to answer your question, this big revelation didn’t _exactly_ come out of nowhere. I kind of had my suspicions.”

That, somehow, shocked Keith more than Lance’s decision to stay. “You— _How?_ ”

“I mean, I didn’t know for sure,” admitted Lance. “There were just a few things that made me wonder. You being so used to Altea’s clock and not being able to leave, some conversations that happened back on Earth when the server crashed, the whole trial Plachu put me through, like he was trying to give me a hint…”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” asked Keith.

“I didn’t want to be wrong,” said Lance, hunching his shoulders and averting his eyes. “But...I didn’t want to be right, either. I mean, it is a _little_ disappointing that we’ll never be able to watch a movie together or...walk through Alamo Square under the stars in summer or… I don’t know.” He met Keith’s eyes. “But we can always play _Shattering_ together, and, like I said before, I’d still rather have a Keith that can’t leave Altea than no Keith at all. I probably should have said something, though.” One corner of his mouth turned up. “You think you can forgive me for being an idiot?”

“You’re not an idiot,” said Keith, and, remarkably, he found himself mirroring Lance’s smile. “Maybe a goofball, but—”

“Hey, I’m not a goofball!” protested Lance through a grin. “I’m, like, a cool ninja sharpshooter!”

He laughed, and though Keith was weak and tired from a night of surprises and pouring his heart out and crying more than he had since his father died, he laughed, too.

Lance seemed to notice the fatigue in his voice. “Come on, man.” He stood from the floor and offered his hand. “You’ve had a rough night, and it’s _way_ past your bedtime.”

Keith, who couldn’t imagine not trusting Lance after how definitively he’d just proven himself, took Lance’s hand easily. “What time is it on Earth right now?”

“Eh, like one in the afternoon,” said Lance, screwing his face up in concentration. “Actually, I...kind of have lunch plans, so after you conk out, I’m gonna have to log off.”

Keith averted his eyes. “Well...if you’re logging off anyway...you don’t have to leave.”

“What do you mean?”

“Houses are spawn points,” said Keith, shrugging one shoulder. “So if you log off in someone’s house...you stay there. You won’t reappear back at the inn unless I kick you out.” He licked his lips. “Well...actually, even if I kicked you out, you’d just reappear here now because we’re married and the last spawn point you touched was mine, so…”

He warily met Lance’s eyes.

They were wide.

“You… Oh.” Lance cleared his throat. “I mean… If you wanted me to stay, you could have just asked. You know that, right?”

“Then...I guess this is me asking,” said Keith. “Not...that you have to say yes. It was just an idea. I mean, you… The least I could do after everything you did for me tonight is let you stay in my bed.”

“In your _bed?”_ Lance pulled his hand away and gestured frantically, making repeated x-shaped motions in front of his chest. “Wait wait wait. Hold on. I am _not_ taking your bed from you after the night you’ve had. No way. Especially not when I’m not even going to be able to feel it.”

“But _you arranged_ that _huge gathering,_ ” protested Keith, his voice cracking from either emotion or the strain from crying. It was hard to tell which. “It’s just one night. I can—”

“No way, man. Not tonight. I’ll take the floor.”

“But—”

Before Keith could finish his protest, he found himself hoisted into the air by a pair of arms behind his knees and back.

“ _Lance—!_ ”

“Man, you are a _lot_ lighter without all that heavy armor,” said Lance brightly, a wide grin on his face. “Good thing, too, or this would be a lot harder.”

“ _What_ would be a lot harder?” demanded Keith, grabbing fistfuls of Lance’s sleeves at the shoulders.

Lance answered by turning around, carrying Keith to the bed, and unceremoniously dropping him on top of the blankets.

Keith turned bright red, equal parts flustered and mortified. He pushed his now-messy hair away from his face in time to see Lance send him one last cocky smirk.

“That’s a good look for you,” he said, turning around. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go find a nice, comfy section of floor to curl up on.”

“Lance, wait!”

Keith’s hand closed around Lance’s wrist, stopping him from going too far, and Lance looked over his shoulder, a deadpan, unimpressed expression on his face.

“You—” Keith huffed impatiently. “The bed’s big enough for two people!”

The unimpressed look on Lance’s face vanished, replaced by wide eyes, parted lips, and...and it was probably Keith’s imagination fueled by the low light from the candle, but it almost looked like his face had turned remarkably red.

Keith knew his _own_ face was red. He hadn’t meant to say it like that—to almost scream it—but it _was_ what he knew he wanted, and, well, ungraceful or not, at least it was out in the open.

“... _Oh,_ ” said Lance quietly, his lips barely moving. “You want... Okay.”

“Okay?” echoed Keith. “As in ‘I understand what you’re asking’ okay or…’okay’ okay?”

Lance turned his shoulders toward him. “‘Okay’ okay.”

“Okay,” said Keith, keeping his expression neutral.

“Okay,” said Lance.

Keith cleared his throat, released Lance’s wrist, and reached down to yank off his boots.

Lance sat beside him on the edge of his bed and removed his own.

Keith draped his tunic over the foot of his bed and, after glancing toward Lance through the corner of his eye, decided it was probably best to sleep with his trousers on.

Lance, despite having removed his sash and doublet, seemed to have decided the same.

It was...weird, Keith decided. He wasn’t exactly new to the concept of sharing beds with people, but knowing that Lance was untucking his shirt to prepare for sleeping—or letting his character sleep—in Keith’s bed was... _weird._

And as embarrassing as it was to admit, Keith knew full well that was because of his stupid crush.

Of all the things to get worked up about after how his day had gone, knowing he was still capable of getting flustered about a _cute boy_ sleeping in his bed was almost enough to make Keith angry at himself.

He reached for the candle on his windowsill and brought it to his lips to blow out the flame.

“Hey, Keith?”

Keith gave himself a mental pat on the back for somehow managing to not flinch. “Yeah?”

“Are you sure it was Shiro who tried to get rid of you and not Zarkon or something?” The bed creaked as Lance inched closer. “I mean, I know you said he wasn’t always like that, but the change had to happen at some point, right? Maybe it happened that day.”

“He still wouldn’t have had a reason to target me,” said Keith. “I wasn’t standing in his way. Not yet. And it wasn’t exactly like I stood out.”

“But you were connected to Matt and Shiro,” said Lance. “Maybe he thought you’d tattle.”

“Even if he did,” said Keith, setting his unlit candle back in the window overlooking his bed, “he wouldn’t have had the power to do it remotely. He’d still need to be there to do whatever it is the Galra have been doing with black lightning. Whoever did it, they altered the code from the outside world. It was either Matt or Shiro. No one else would have had access to the game’s code.” He met Lance’s eyes through the dark. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Lance, but I’ve had a year to think about this. It hurts, but I know what happened.”

Lance held his tongue before breaking the silence with a quiet, uncertain, “Okay.”

Keith leaned back against the mattress with a quiet, exhausted sigh, and Lance followed suit, shifting audibly among the blankets until he got comfortable.

“Hey, Keith?”

“Mm?”

Lance’s arms slinked around Keith and pulled him until he was close enough for Lance to press his face into Keith’s shoulder, unwittingly doubling the pace of Keith’s heart.

“Just...wanted to say good night. Before I left.”

A nervous laugh fell quietly from Keith’s lips. So stupid for him to even think about his stupid crush after a stupid day like that. _So_ stupid.

“...Yeah.” murmured Keith. “Good night.”

Lance shifted his hands under Keith’s back and muttered a voice command. “ _Log out._ ”

His body slackened, no longer inhabited by a player, and his breath evened out, mimicking sleep.

Keith sighed. He knew there was nothing beside him but an empty character model, but for some reason, that knowledge wasn’t enough to keep him from pulling Lance close.

 

* * *

 

Lance stared up at his ceiling, arms stretched out on either side of his bed, his stomach still tied into the same knots it had been tied in when he was in Altea.

He’d learned a lot in one morning.

About Keith...and about himself.

And he still had a lot more he needed to learn. Every answer Keith had given him only raised two questions in its place, like some kind of bizarre _confusion hydra_.

Shiro didn’t seem like the kind of person to just...delete someone’s entire existence out of pique. He just... _didn’t._ Lance needed his side of the story. There had to be more to it than what Keith knew. And as long as Lance could think of a way to bring it up tactfully, without raising too much suspicion in case Keith _was_ right, over lunch seemed like the perfect time.

Lance sat up in his bed, pulled off his headset, and ruffled his hair to get rid of the imprints his headset had no doubt left on his hairstyle.

“Okay, priority number one, ask Shiro about what happened to Keith.”

He pressed the side of his fist to his still-pounding heart, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

“Keith comes first. I can deal with the whole ‘in love with a video game character’ thing later.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone can make a mistake.
> 
> Also, congratulations to the very few who figured it out. [Especially droptable who figured it out first. :D] I hadn't gone into this story planning to make this a big plot twist, but when I realized at the beginning that no one had figured it out despite the fact that I wasn't really trying that hard to hide it, I decided to make a big deal about it.


	36. Delete

Lance shook his hair out in the mirror, trying to tidy up his stubborn headset hair, and decided it was as good as it was going to get. He’d been messing with it for the past ten minutes and kept wandering back to the mirror to pick at it some more, and it wasn’t doing him any good. Besides, it was fine. It wasn’t like he was going on a date or something.

Even if he was having lunch with the cousin of someone he’d like to go on a date with.

Who was a video game character.

Lance groaned and slapped his own cheeks repeatedly. “Later! I don’t have time for this!”

He pulled his coat tighter around himself and rushed into the living room.

Just before his hand touched the doorknob, he noticed Hunk, who was sitting on the couch a few feet away, still neck-deep in Altea.

According to the red, flashing light on his headset, he was in a stressful situation, too. Probably a boss battle.

Lance shoved his hands in his pockets and turned around. It was probably weird, watching Hunk while he was unaware. It was like watching him sleep. But Lance couldn’t help it.

It had just occurred to him that if anyone in the world knew exactly how Lance felt, it was Hunk.

Hunk hadn’t been able to stop talking about Shay since he started playing. It was obvious to Lance—and to Pidge when they bothered to chime in—that Hunk’s feelings for Shay didn’t stay grounded in the realm of platonic. And he’d known who Shay was from the beginning.

Shiro may have been the first person Lance needed to talk to, but he definitely needed to talk to Hunk as well.

But that was for later. Once Lance got home.

It was a cold, late autumn day, both in Altea and on Earth, despite Altea’s time moving four times as quickly as Earth’s time.

What was more, it had snowed.

Lance stepped out from the safety of his apartment complex and the soles of his tennis shoes crunched the snow flat on the pathway leading to the front entrance. He pulled the slate blue wool of his scarf up, over his nose and mouth, warding away the cold, and he took a deep breath, eyes closed.

 _Nothing’s going to happen. Keith’s right. I won’t freeze to death. And even if I did start to freeze, someone would notice. Someone would help. I’m going to have a nice day with Shiro, and most of it is going to be inside. And if anything ruins my day, it’s going to be Shiro’s response to the whole..._ Keith _thing. Not this._

With eyes open and heart pounding—rapidly, but not overwhelmingly so—Lance made for his car.

 

* * *

 

“Tah-dah! I bet you feel loads better already.”

Shiro combed his fingers through his still-damp bangs and looked himself over in the mirror. He certainly looked a lot _cleaner_ than he had since Matt…

...For a few months.

“It was a good idea, Lance,” he said, looking at Lance’s reflection rather than the face beside him.

“What did I tell you?” Lance draped an arm over Shiro’s shoulders. “Step one, get you out of the house. Step two, haircut. Step three’s either to get you back on a proper routine or to get you to start wearing your prosthetic again. Or to lose the sweatpants. That’s definitely a priority.”

“The prosthetic doesn’t really fit like it used to,” admitted Shiro, standing from his chair and muttering a quick _thank you_ to the hairdresser he’d already paid.

“Can’t be that hard to fix,” said Lance. “I bet Hunk could do it. He was well on his way to being an engineer before we started focusing on the whole QA testing thing together. He still has some old tools in his room and I know he works on these little personal tech projects sometimes. It’d probably take him, like, five minutes tops.”

Shiro raked his fingernails through his newly-cut hair. “I wouldn’t want to put him out.”

“Pssh, come on, Shiro, have you _met_ Hunk?” Lance nudged his arm with an elbow and led the way out of the hairdresser’s and back into the main corridor of the mall. “He wouldn’t even bat an eyelash. Trust me. I’ll ask him for you, but only if you want me to.”

Shiro shrugged and shoved his hand back into his pocket. “Only if _you_ want to.”

“Oh, I’m asking him,” said Lance. “Do you like coffee? Because there’s this place right around the corner that’s, like, _jaw-droppingly_ good. Like I know it’s mall food, so you wouldn’t think, but seriously, it’s straight up mana from heaven.”

“Do I have a choice?” asked Shiro, half-laughing, raising his eyebrows.

“Not anymore,” said Lance, who was already several strides ahead.

Shiro shook his head and followed.

It was bittersweet, spending time with Lance. The more time they spent together, the more Shiro realized exactly what it was that made Shiro want to open up to Lance in the first place.

He was oddly reminiscent of Matt.

He wasn’t quite a spitting image. He didn’t go on brainy rambles Shiro could just barely keep up with the way Matt did. He was a _little_ goofier, though not by much. He didn’t have Matt’s smile, and even if he did, Shiro doubted it would have those same pulse-quickening properties Matt’s did.

But...it was still a blast from the past, in a way. Following someone bright-eyed and optimistic down a crowded corridor, even if Lance wasn’t dragging Shiro by the hand like Matt would have done.

“All right, here’s the place,” said Lance eagerly. “It seriously has the best cappuccinos I’ve ever had. Get a cappuccino. You won’t regret it. Oh, but the hot chocolate is also fantastic. You know what? I think I’m gonna go middle-of-the-road here. Get a mocha.” He crossed his arms and got a dreamy look in his eyes. “Yeah. Today’s a mocha kind of day.”

Shiro laughed and hid his face in his hand.

Yeah. Lance definitely reminded him of Matt. Maybe he wasn’t an exact copy, but he was certainly an echo. He could see why Matt hit it off with him so easily the day they met.

“A cappuccino sounds great.”

“Mr. Shirogane?”

Shiro lifted his head and searched for the voice that had called his name. He found the source in the form of a girl behind the cafe counter with olive skin, hoop earrings, and a smile as warm as her eyes.

“Oh, hey there, uh…” Shiro stumbled on the name. “It’s Shay, right?”

“‘Shay’?” echoed Lance quietly from his side.

“The one and only,” said the girl behind the counter. “I haven’t seen you since the whole brain-downloading thing. How are you?”

“All things considered?” Shiro managed a polite half-smile. He hoped it seemed at least somewhat genuine.

“Right,” said Shay, her smile shrinking. “I heard about what happened. I’m sorry to hear it. Mr. Holt was an incredible person.”

“He was,” said Shiro faintly. “Which is...why I’ve decided to continue production of the game despite...what happened. I decided it was a...a slight to his memory to leave his greatest work unfinished. Actually…” Shiro set his hand on Lance’s shoulder, feeling rather like he was using Lance as a human shield. “This is one of our testers. Once he and the others have finished testing, the game’s as good as released.”

“Uh, hi,” said Lance, raising his hand, surprisingly shy.

“Nice to meet you, Lance,” said Shay cheerfully. “You two here to order coffee?”

Lance blinked, shook his head like he was snapping himself out of a stupor, and reclaimed the usual tone of his voice. “Yeah, uh, actually, I’d like a mocha.”

Shiro put in his own order, though his eyes didn’t wander far from Lance and his strange behavior.

Lance fell silent after that. Strangely so. And Shiro didn’t bother breaking it.

Not until they reached the park.

“So, was it love at first sight?” teased Shiro, the corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly.

“What?” Lance lifted his head. “Wait, are you talking about Shay?” He laughed. “No, no, no! Hunk just talked about meeting a Shay in Balmera and I was kind of wondering—”

“You were wondering if that was her,” supplied Shiro. “Yeah. It was. She’s a Balmeran. I designed her myself. Or, well, her Beta. A Beta is—”

“Yeah, I know what a Beta is,” said Lance. “They’re, like, data doubles of people who already exist, right?”

“Right,” said Shiro. “A copy of an Alpha.”

“Right,” said Lance, slow and thoughtful, staring at the lid of his cup. “So...are they all like that?”

“All of the characters in Altea?” Shiro nodded. “More or less. Matt made some of the AI from scratch with what he learned from his recordings of real brain behavior. Kids. Most of the animals. The monsters you fight. But everyone else you meet is bound to be a Beta.”

“So there’s a real Coran the Innkeeper walking around somewhere,” said Lance.

“Well, he’s an IT in this world,” said Shiro. “But yes, Coran is a real person. An old friend of my ex-girlfriend’s dad, actually.”

“That’s...wild,” said Lance. “So say you fell head-over-heels in love with one of the characters. There’d be a real-life version of them walking around somewhere, and you could potentially fall in love with the real them, too, right?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” said Shiro. “They’re all actors playing characters. So you’re still falling love with the fictional version of them. It would be like falling in love with someone’s character in a tabletop RPG. Unless they broke character, which they’re not strictly supposed to do outside of a tutorial or an emergency, like if there’s an error in the game that could be potentially harmful to players, or if someone is clearly having a psychological response to something in the game.”

“It’s got to be weird for the people who get put in the game, though, right?” asked Lance. “Like one second they’re in the real world, and the next, they’ll never be able to leave this, like, cross-cultural, ancient fantasy world and see real grass or the real sky ever again.”

“Matt and I worked together to make the world of Altea as realistic as possible,” said Shiro.”Not only for the benefit of the players, but for the characters _in_ the game as well. The last thing we ever wanted was to trap anyone in an eerie, uncanny world. In case it wasn’t what they thought, everyone who chose to become a character signed a contract that ensures they know they’re allowed to request deletion if Altea doesn’t meet their expectations.”

“Request deletion?” asked Lance. “That makes it sound like assisted suicide.”

“I...guess you could compare it to euthanasia,” said Shiro, treading carefully. “But it’s either that or dooming people to what could be a living hell to them. It’s a completely new situation. There’s no sociological or psychological precedent. The most we could do was try to be careful.”

Lance was silent for a moment. Thoughtful. So different from how he had been before he met Shay.

“Have you…ever deleted anyone?” asked Lance, his footsteps halting in the snow.

Shiro stopped walking and looked over his shoulder. “No one has ever requested deletion.”

“That’s...not really what I’m asking,” said Lance, shoving a hand into his coat pocket. “Have you ever deleted any of the characters in Altea before? Not just because someone asked, but _ever._ Like maybe they were misbehaving and you couldn’t find a way to stop them, or you realized they didn’t work in the role you put them in, or...maybe there was an accident?”

Shiro closed his eyes. Lance couldn’t have possibly known what he’d just asked.

“...Once.”

“And?” prompted Lance, his voice insistent, but not unkind.

“And what?” asked Shiro, eyes still closed, almost afraid that if he looked Lance in the eye, Lance would be able to see _everything._

“ _And,_ ” said Lance, just as insistent as before, “why did you delete them? There has to be a reason. I know there was. You’re not the kind of person to just... _kill_ someone unless you have a reason. A good one.”

Shiro turned away, gripping his coffee cup tighter in his hand. It bent under his fingers. “Look, it’s complicated. There’s a lot of context to go through and I don’t know if I could explain it in a way that would really make you understand. It’s a long, long story.”

“Hey, I don’t have any plans after this,” said Lance, some of his usual playful tone resurfacing. “Lay it on me.”

“Lance—”

A warm, gloved hand wrapped around Shiro’s arm and Shiro finally opened his eyes.

Lance smiled at him, comforting and sympathetic.

“We all make mistakes,” said Lance. “Even big ones. I just want to know what happened. No judgment. Cross my heart and all that jazz.”

Shiro could hardly do more than stare.

Then a smile crept onto his lips. “‘All that jazz’?”

“Yeah,” said Lance. “All of it. Little bit of blues, too. Maybe some rock and roll.”

Shiro let go of a breath that was almost a laugh. Almost. But despite that, his smile was quick to vanish.

“...If you’re sure.”

“I am,” said Lance.

Shiro took another breath, shakier than the last. “...The first thing you need to know is that I didn’t realize this character was in the game at the beginning.”

 

* * *

 

“Academic suspension?”

Keith winced and looked away as if just looking at the letter had been enough to burn him.

“Why didn’t you let me know it was this bad?” asked Shiro, tossing the letter onto the table beside them. “You were going to class every day. I _saw_ you studying. I know you slowed down while you were in mourning, but you told me you had it under control. I don’t understand what happened.”

“Don’t know,” said Keith. “Guess I’m too stupid for college.”

“Keith, I need a serious answer,” said Shiro. “You lost scholarships over this. What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” said Keith, cold and disinterested.

“Are you going to work for a semester and go back next year?” asked Shiro.

“I don’t know,” said Keith again.

“Are you changing schools?” asked Shiro.

“I don’t know,” said Keith.

“Are you dropping out?” asked Shiro.

“I don’t _know,_ ” said Keith.

Shiro slammed his hand down on the table where the letter sat. “Keith, you have to have a plan! You can’t just drift aimlessly through life!”

“Why do you care?!” snapped Keith. “Who do you think you are? My dad?! In case you forgot, you're not him!”

“He told me to take care of you, Keith!” Shiro raised his voice. “Do you know what he’d say if he knew I let this happen?!”

“It’s not your life, Shiro!” yelled Keith, just as loud, just as angry. “I’m an adult! I’m not your responsibility!”

“You’re barely nineteen, Keith! You’ve been nineteen for two months! Just because you’re of the age of majority does _not_ mean you’re an adult! Your father—”

“It doesn’t matter what my dad said!” Keith’s voice cracked. “It doesn’t matter what he’d think, okay?! He’s gone! And you’re not him! No matter how much you keep trying to be, you will never be my dad!”

Keith stormed past Shiro, knocking a chair over on his way to the door before slamming that door behind him with so much force the cabinets shuddered.

Shiro, seething, picked the chair back up and returned it to its place at the table. His hands, both natural and prosthetic, gripped the back until it groaned.

A quiet creaking sound reached Shiro’s ears from the corridor behind him and he looked over his shoulder to find Matt behind him, dressed in an old t-shirt and a pair of pyjama pants.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“...Hey,” said Shiro, who had already calmed considerably just by seeing Matt there. And in doing so, he looked at his behavior toward Keith with fresh eyes.

“I...went too far, didn’t I?”

“...Yeah,” said Matt. “Yeah, you did. I wanted to say something, and I should have, but I—”

“No, don’t blame yourself,” said Shiro. “I’m the one at fault here. I’m the one who needs to apologize.” He looked to the door.

“Give Keith some time to cool down first,” said Matt. “You both got pretty heated.”

Shiro sighed, frustrated. “I just… I don’t want him to ruin his life. And I’m the only guidance he has now.”

Matt sighed and wrapped his arms around Shiro’s waist from behind, tilting his head back to rest his chin on Shiro’s shoulder. “He’s right. You have been trying to be his dad. But he doesn’t need that right now, Shiro. He doesn’t need an authority figure. He needs _you._ Just like I did after _my_ dad died. And I’m sure that’s what your uncle meant when he told you to take care of him. Not to take his place. Just to be the family you’ve always been to him.”

Again, Shiro sighed. Matt could very well have been right.

“Hey,” whispered Matt, his tone taking on the faintest levity. “Want to watch forty-year-old Let’s Plays with me?”

Shiro laughed softly. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Maybe we can convince Keith to join us when he gets back,” said Matt. “Give us all a chance to de-stress and reacclimate to each other tonight and take on the serious stuff tomorrow. With a clear head. No yelling this time.”

Shiro closed his eyes. “Right.”

Matt kissed his cheek. “We’ll find a way to make this work,” he whispered, one of his hands dropping to Shiro’s prosthetic to intertwine their fingers. “We always do.”

Shiro curled up on the couch with Matt, his head on Matt’s shoulder, his eyes on the screen, his ears captured by Matt’s voice as he explained the history of every decades-old meme and outdated reference.

It took Shiro thirty minutes to start laughing.

It took Shiro only thirty minutes more to stop.

His eyes wandered to the door of their apartment, the door that had stayed stubbornly closed for the past hour, and his already knotted stomach twisted tighter.

Matt hit the pause button. "I’m sure he’s okay. He probably just needs some more time.”

Shiro wished he could be as convinced as Matt was.

“...I’m gonna make some hot chocolate,” said Matt, standing from the couch. “Maybe go to the bathroom. Just stay here, okay?”

“Okay,” sighed Shiro.

Matt kissed his temple and disappeared into the kitchen.

Shiro pulled the blankets tighter around himself and listened to the opening of the refrigerator door, the beeping of the microwave, Matt’s idle humming, and the tapping of his toes.

He was nervous, too. Shiro could tell, no matter how hard Matt was trying to hide it.

And that didn’t make Shiro feel any better.

The microwave began to hum, and Shiro heard Matt disappear into the hallway, his footsteps soft against the carpet.

Before the microwave had finished running, Matt’s footsteps returned, much more frantic, much more worried.

“Shiro?!” Matt appeared around the corner that led into the hallway. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, and his fingers gripped the wall like claws.

Shiro threw his blanket off himself. “What? What’s wrong?”

“It— It’s hard to— Ugh, maybe I’m overreacting—”

“You don’t overreact,” said Shiro, standing from the couch. “What happened?”

“I checked Keith’s room—just to be sure—and— You need to look at it yourself.”

Shiro felt as though he’d been kicked in the chest. He all but ran from the couch. Matt grabbed his hand as he passed by, grounding him, but only so much.

They entered Keith’s bedroom together, and Shiro immediately saw what Matt must have seen.

Keith’s closet door was open, and even from the doorway, Shiro could see just how empty it was.

“What?” he breathed. “But how— He just stormed out. He wouldn’t have had time to… _How?_ ”

“I don’t know,” said Matt, squeezing Shiro’s hand. “Maybe he...came in through the window?”

Shiro laughed faintly, dizzy in disbelief. “On the fourth floor?”

“Well...the only other option would be if he…” Matt swallowed audibly. “...if he already knew he was leaving.”

Shiro screwed his eyes shut. “I’m calling the police.” He slipped his hand out of Matt’s and stormed into the kitchen for the landline.

By the time Shiro was finished with the call, Matt had curled up on the couch, his knees pulled to his chest.

“This is my fault,” he whispered. “It’s _all my fault._ If I didn’t stop you from going after him—”

“None of this is your fault,” said Shiro, taking a seat beside Matt and pulling him close. “You didn’t know what he was planning. You couldn’t have known. And in any other situation, giving Keith space would have been the right thing to do. We both know that.”

“But if I just said something before he left maybe he would have changed his mind or—”

Shiro pulled back and reached for Matt’s face.

He was crying.

“No buts,” whispered Shiro, brushing Matt’s tears away with his thumbs. “You were right before. We always find a way. And we’ll find him. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

It was Matt who answered the phone, and once Shiro realized what was going on, he took a seat at the kitchen table and waited, listening.

“...Okay.” Matt didn’t sound happy. “Thank you. We appreciate everything you’re doing. ...We’ll try. ...You, too.”

He ended the call, returned the handset to its hook, and met Shiro’s eyes.

“...They found his bike.”

“His _bike?!_ ” Shiro leaned across the table. “Is he okay? Was he in a crash?”

“A small one, they think,” said Matt. “There was a little blood at the scene, but not much. The bike was kind of messed up, though. And his saddlebags were missing. They think he abandoned it and continued on foot.”

“Continued on foot _where?_ ” pressed Shiro.

Matt shrugged, a sympathetic expression on his face.

Shiro buried his face in his hands and rubbed his cheeks and forehead. At least Keith was most likely okay, but… “He really must have wanted to get away.” He lowered his hands. “From me.”

Matt rounded the table and wrapped Shiro in his arms, silent, but warm.

Shiro sighed and returned the embrace, burying his face in Matt’s shoulder.

“I just wish I knew where he would have gone. If we just had some kind of lead… He doesn’t have any friends I know of besides us and Allura.” He lifted his head. “He wouldn’t have gone to her, would he?”

Matt smiled shakily. “I don’t think he planned on crossing the ocean on his bike. Or without a passport.”

Shiro closed his eyes. “You’re right.” He sighed again. “I wish there was some way I could just... _ask_ him.”

Matt scratched the back of Shiro’s head through the shortest part of his hair. “...Maybe there is.”

 

* * *

 

Shiro took the headset from his head and tossed it at the bed. It bounced and hit the wall with a smack.

“Nothing. He didn’t know _anything._ Said he’d probably ‘just start driving’. That’s all he gave me. That’s _it._ ”

“Shiro, breathe.” Matt held the sides of his face and tilted his head down, forcing their eyes to meet. “This was just one route. We reached a dead end here, but the police are still searching. Don’t give up hope. Not yet.”

Shiro pulled Matt’s hands down. “What if they do find him? What if they find him and he doesn’t want to come back?”

The color drained from Matt’s face. “I… I don’t know, Shiro.” He dropped his gaze to the floor. “I don’t know.”

 

* * *

 

One sunny Sunday afternoon in early January, a knock came to Shiro’s apartment door.

He pulled it open, and an older woman with short, gray hair in a police department uniform stood in his doorway.

“Mr. Shirogane?”

“Yes?” Shiro’s hand wrapped tight around the door handle.

“Lieutenant Sanda.” The woman offered her hand.

Shiro warily shook the offered hand. “Is this about Keith?”

Sanda retracted her hand in an instant. “I’m afraid so.”

“Afraid—?”

“We should talk inside.”

Shiro gestured for Sanda to come in and made his way to the desk, where Matt was utterly engrossed in his work. He’d been doing losing himself like that quite a bit since Keith left.

Shiro dropped his hand on Matt’s shoulder, and Matt lifted his head. He blinked, looked over his shoulder, and saw Lieutenant Sanda.

“Oh.” He paled. “ _Oh._ ”

Matt stood from his chair and abandoned his work mid-line.

“The two of you might want to have a seat,” said Sanda. “This isn’t easy news to take.”

Shiro reached for Matt’s hand.

Matt squeezed back.

They sat on the couch side-by-side. A team. No matter what Sanda had to say.

She looked between them, tilted her head back, and spoke, brief, simple. Terse.

“We found your cousin. He is safe.”

Matt breathed a sigh of relief.

Shiro, though not unhappy with the news that Keith was all right, didn’t breathe easy just yet. “And?”

“There is no ‘and’, Mr. Shirogane,” said Sanda. “That’s all I can tell you.”

Shiro squeezed Matt’s hand tight. “What do you mean _that’s all—_ ”

“We cannot divulge any information about a found missing person over the age of majority,” said Sanda. “If someone does not want to be found and does not wish to return, there is nothing more I can do.”

“No, you don’t understand, I need—”

Matt set his free hand on Shiro’s shoulder, keeping him from flying off the handle.

He looked at Lieutenant Sanda, then away again.

“...Thank you,” he said quietly, his eyes on the carpet, his thumb stroking the back of Shiro’s hand. “We appreciate everything you’ve done.”

 

* * *

 

Shiro sat on the edge of his bed, hands clasped, fingers entwined and pressed to his forehead.

Matt’s head on his shoulder and his hand on Shiro’s back was soothing, but...it could only do so much.

They had no words of comfort left for one another. No assurances. No promises that everything would be okay.

The game was over. They’d lost.

_The game…_

“...Matt, we have to get rid of his Beta.”

Matt’s hand froze between Shiro’s shoulder blades.

“...What are you talking about?”

“Keith β,” said Shiro. “We have to get rid of him.”

Matt lifted his head. “Why?”

“I can’t log on knowing he’s there, knowing I could bump into him at any time, knowing that he…” Shiro knitted his brow behind his hands. “I can’t.”

“Shiro, I know you’re going through a lot right now,” said Matt, wrapping his hands tight around Shiro’s arm. “So am I. But we can’t just get rid of Keith β. Data or not, that’s still a real person with personal thoughts and feelings and desires. We can’t just kill a _person_ because you can’t look him in the eye right now.”

“He’s not a person,” said Shiro. “He’s a bunch of ones and zeroes that were shoved together to look and act like someone who doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore. Doesn’t want anything to do with either of us anymore.”

“Shiro…” Matt squeezed Shiro’s arm tighter. “If you do this, I promise you, you’re going to regret it. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next week. Maybe not a year from now. But someday, you _are_ going to regret it. I know you. You’re too kind not to.”

“We don’t have a year for me to get over it,” said Shiro firmly. “We need to keep working on the game, and I can’t do it with him there. We have to get rid of him.”

Matt opened his mouth and took a sharp breath like he was going to say something else, form another protest, but all he did was close his mouth again.

Then he closed his eyes.

Bowed his head.

And let go of Shiro’s arm.

“...Okay.” He stood from the edge of their bed, head still bowed, and offered his hand without looking Shiro in the eye.

Shiro took his hand without a word and, in silence, they walked to the living room, to the desktop.

Matt took a seat, and Shiro stood behind him, his hands on Matt’s shoulders as Matt connected to their server remotely.

Though the files looked like nonsense to Shiro’s eyes, Matt navigated them easily, scrolling through thousands upon thousands of items and selecting only what he needed.

At the bottom of the rows upon rows of countless items, Matt’s hand on the mouse went still, then dropped into his lap.

“...All of Keith’s memories,” he said softly. “Old and new. Memories of you and me...Allura...his parents...memories of Altea and Daibazaal and the Galra. Every level he’s ever gained, every item he’s ever collected. Every ounce of impact he’s left on the game. Every choice he’s ever made.”

Matt looked over his shoulder. His eyes, mournful and uncertain, met Shiro’s.

“This is it. With the press of a button, it’s all gone. We might never talk to him again. Any version of him. This is goodbye, Shiro. Forever. Are you sure this is what you want?”

Shiro broke eye contact and looked at his own hands.

“He never wanted to see us again,” said Shiro. “We showed him how much we cared about him when we decided to look for him, and he decided that wasn’t enough. This is what he wanted. To cut ties for good.” He looked Matt in the eye. There was no hesitation in his heart. No quiver to his hand. “I’m going to honor his wishes.”

Matt closed his eyes, took a sharp breath through his nose, and stood from his chair.

“Okay.” He walked around the back of his chair, took Shiro’s left hand, and guided it to the _Delete_ key. “Then...it’s up to you to press the button.” His hand loosened around Shiro’s, but didn’t quite let go. It stayed, warm and assuring, blanketed over Shiro’s knuckles. “But I’ll stand with you, no matter what you decide.”

Shiro took a deep breath, looked Matt in the eye one last time, nodded, and pressed the button.

╔═══════════════════════════════════════════════════╗

Ａｒｅ  ｙｏｕ  ｓｕｒｅ  ｙｏｕ  ｗａｎｔ  ｔｏ  ｐｅｒｍａｎｅｎｔｌｙ  
ｄｅｌｅｔｅ ｔｈｅｓｅ ｉｔｅｍｓ？

[Ｙｅｓ]    Ｎｏ

╚═══════════════════════════════════════════════════╝

 

* * *

 

Lance looked into the snow around his feet.

Keith was right. Shiro and Matt _were_ the ones to delete him. They were the only ones with the motive, the access to Keith’s files, and the knowledge of which ones to delete without completely dismantling Altea.

Lance wanted to be angry on Keith’s behalf. He wanted to ask Shiro why he didn’t think the characters in Altea counted as real people when they all thought and felt and loved and feared like anyone else.

But then he saw the look in Shiro’s eyes. He saw the tremble in Shiro’s shoulders and the horror in his expression as the gravity of what he did seemed to truly hit him for the first time.

“I didn’t know back then,” said Shiro, the faintest wavering in his voice. “I didn’t understand how right Matt was. I’ve learned so much by taking on his work. He was right. I can’t imagine not seeing...them as real people. Maybe I always knew. Maybe I was a coward. Maybe I just didn’t want to see Keith’s face and know that I pushed him away. Maybe I didn’t want that confirmation that he hated me.”

Lance’s thumbnail punctured his cup. There were so many things he wanted to say, but nothing he _could_ say without betraying Keith. And somehow, he doubted they would help that much anyway.

“I made so many mistakes,” whispered Shiro, turning his face away. “I wish I could go back and do everything differently. I wish I could tell Keith how much he mattered to me. I wish I could tell him that his classes could screw themselves if they weren’t making him happy, that all I really cared about was him. I would have just...hugged him and never let him go. And it would have taken more than a gun pointed to my head to delete his character if I knew then what I know now.” He hunched his shoulders. “I loved him. You’ll never understand how much. I was stupid, and I was wrong, and if I...if I could just _apologize—_ ”

Shiro’s voice cracked, and Lance couldn’t stand it any longer.

He walked around Shiro, grabbed him by the coat, and pulled him into a hug.

Shiro tensed, for only a second, before wrapping his arm around Lance’s back and holding him like a lifeline.

“People make mistakes,” whispered Lance. “We all do things we regret. It doesn’t make us bad people, as long as we’re willing to learn from what we’ve done.”

“Learning doesn’t change anything,” whispered Shiro, holding Lance tighter. “It won’t bring Keith back or rebuild my friendship with Allura or tell Matt how I felt sooner.”

Lance closed his eyes. “I know.” He pulled back from Shiro and grabbed his arm with one hand, the other, still holding his coffee, still hanging loose around Shiro’s side. “But maybe...now that you’ve gone through that...you’ll know what to say if you see Keith again. Or you’ll rekindle the friendship you lost the second you get the chance. Or...the next time you fall in love with someone, you won’t hesitate to tell them.” He looked Shiro in the eye and managed a weak smile. “You deserve happiness, Shiro. I might not know you that well, but I at least know that much.”

Shiro sighed, and Lance tried his best to ignore the red at the corners of his eyes. “Yeah, well. I don’t see myself jumping back into the dating scene anytime soon.” The corner of his mouth pulled up into a broken half-smile. “But I’ll try to keep the rest in mind.”

“Absolutely,” said Lance, slapping Shiro’s shoulder amicably. “Stay positive. You never know what’s going on in other people’s heads. Maybe Keith and—Allura?” Lance’s gaze flicked toward the trees for less than a second. He swore he’d heard that name before. Somewhere. “Maybe they have the same regrets you do. You’d never know unless you talked to them.”

“Maybe,” said Shiro, his brow knitting, a thoughtful, distant look in his eye. A look that lingered when he met Lance’s gaze again. “Can I ask you something? A personal question?”

“I mean, it’s only fair, right?” asked Lance, shrugging.

Shiro’s gaze hardened. “Are you in a relationship right now?”

Lance raised an eyebrow. If Shiro hadn’t just said he wasn’t ready for a relationship, he might have thought Shiro was asking him out. “Uhh… No?”

“Is there someone you’re interested in?” asked Shiro. “Maybe someone you’re in love with?”

“I, uh…” Lance mouth-fished briefly, looking for the words. So much for leaving _that_ on the back burner for later. “Maybe? I mean, yeah, I am, but...it’s kind of a new development. Like an ‘I just figured it out and I’m still kind of adjusting to it’ thing.”

Shiro nodded, and, again, he looked distant, but that distance was quick to clear up. “Do yourself a favor. Let them know. Even if you don’t think they feel the same way.” Sadness—true, deep, aching sadness—swam in Shiro’s eyes. “You don’t know that. And you don’t know how much time you have left. Everything could be taken from you in an instant.” He shook his head. “Whatever you do...don’t wind up like me.”

With those words hanging in the air, the park felt so much colder. Lance shuddered and wrapped his free arm around himself.

As much as Lance hated to admit it, Shiro was right. Anything could happen to Keith at any time. The Galra were relentless.

But the idea of losing Keith...the way Shiro lost Matt…

It was too much to bear.

“I…”

_“Lance!”_

Lance’s head throbbed. He winced and kneaded his temple.

Why did he feel so tired all of a sudden?

“Lance?” The snow crunched under Shiro’s feet as he inched closer.

“I’m…”

 _“Wake_ up, _Lance!”_

Lance screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. Strange. He swore he’d just heard… “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem—”

Shiro’s voice was drowned out by another.

_“Lance! Come on! I can’t do this without you!”_

“It’s okay,” mumbled Lance, his voice faint even to his own ears. “I just… I think the cold’s getting to me. I’ve got this...phobia. I didn’t think…”

“You should have said something sooner,” said Shiro. “My car’s not far from here. Think you can make it for a block?”

Lance nodded, and it was enough to make the world swim.

_“Lance… Please.”_

“Keith…”

Lance’s knees buckled. His mocha spilled from his hand onto the snow below, and the last thing he heard was the sound of two voices, one from right in front of him, one from worlds away, mingling in a dissonant echo as they both cried out.

**_“Lance!”_ **

Then sound, light, touch, and thought faded away, and all that was left was a hauntingly silent abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :]


	37. Load

Pidge’s footsteps crunched the forest floor beneath them with every frantic footfall against every fallen leaf, every pile of twigs, every crushed acorn.

They were a fast class. Thieves were _fast._ But their pursuers were faster.

Pidge heard the rustling of thick, flowing robes just behind, louder than the flapping of Rover’s wings or the puttering of the caterpillar creatures just as eager to escape as Pidge was.

Vines shot up from the ground and wrapped around Pidge’s ankles.

They tripped.

The robed attackers were only seconds behind them.

Pidge reached for their dagger and rolled over. They cut one leg free. Rover swooped down and cut the other vine with his beak.

One of the attackers was close enough for Pidge to smell their breath.

The dagger slipped from Pidge’s hand.

They threw an arm over their head, bracing themselves for the attack.

 

* * *

 

Blood. Blood _everywhere._ So much of it. Too much of it. All pouring from a single source. An arm. Or what was left of one, draped over Pidge’s chest.

Pidge screamed, horrified, and pushed themselves back, kicking the broken dashboard they were pinned against.

Somewhere through the frantic terror, Pidge recognized the car’s interior.

_Matt’s car._

_Matt’s old car._

_How—?_

Pidge looked at themselves, just to make sure they were still in Altea.

The same black sleeves, the same Olkari green doublet. Altea. For sure.

_But there are no cars in Altea! Why—?!_

“S...Shiro?”

Pidge couldn’t breathe.

They knew that voice. They hadn’t heard that voice anywhere but from their own phone recordings in months, but they _knew_ that _voice._

And it definitely wasn’t theirs.

“No— No, no, oh god, no, no, no, no— _Shiro—_ ”

That was _not_ Pidge’s voice, and yet it sounded like it came _from_ them. Like the person who was speaking spoke from directly where Pidge’s head was. And he sounded weak and disoriented and just like…

...just like…

“Shiro, no, no, you can’t— You can’t do this to me— You have to be— No, no, no, no, no, no, no—”

 

* * *

 

Like waking from a dream, Pidge reappeared in the woods, their attacker pushed away from them by a fuzzy, pink ball.

The other cloaked figure appeared out of thin air and grabbed the pink, caterpillar-like creature from the other one’s mask with a disgusted, feminine, “Ugh!”

She threw the caterpillar against the ground hard enough to snap every stick it landed on, and it vanished with a puff of smoke.

“No!” Pidge screamed, as angry as they were horrified.

Both masks turned toward them, and the righteous anger turned to fear.

Pidge scrambled frantically to their feet, the two remaining caterpillars and Rover all pulling at their clothes to urge them into a run.

They ran.

They ran so fast they heard nothing but the rushing of wind past their ears. They ran so fast the forest seemed like nothing but a green blur. They ran so fast they lost track of where they were.

It wasn’t fast enough.

One of the cloaked figures appeared in front of Pidge’s face, causing Pidge to run headlong into her chest.

She wrapped her arms around Pidge’s back, pinning their arms to their sides, leaving them defenseless, preventing them from running, from fighting back.

Pidge felt a cold hand on the back of their neck.

 

* * *

 

“You have no idea how much this means to me, Honerva. Thank you.”

Pidge’s blood ran cold. Their stomach flipped. They couldn’t move.

“Matt…?”

“It was nothing.” A woman with gray hair tied back in a tidy bun reached behind the desk—no, a lab table—of what looked like a...classroom.

“It wouldn’t have been possible without your software,” said the woman, Honerva. “You were the one who invented a way for a lying brain to detect artificial touch.”

She pulled something out from behind the lab table and set it on top.

An arm.

 _Shiro’s_ arm. His prosthetic.

“All I did was record how the brain translates physical contact into the sensation of touch,” said Matt. “Replicating it was a piece of cake once I understood how it worked. You were the one who actually made something _real_ out of what I gathered.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” said Honerva. She seemed...tired. Emotionally drained. Even cold. Pidge supposed that could have simply been the way she was, but… “You made a whole world. I made an arm.”

“But this technology could be used to help so many people,” said Matt earnestly. “I already know it’s going to help Shiro—”

A short, three-second-long loop of electronic music rang through the air.

Honerva glanced at the phone on the table beside her and tapped it with a finger.

The ringing stopped.

Matt shifted nervously, his eyes on the phone.

“Don’t mind that,” said Honerva. “Go ahead.” She gestured to the prosthetic.

Matt didn’t need to be told twice.

He took the arm in both his own and held it like a child.

“So,” he said in a too-bright, forced tone. “How are Sentry and Gladiator doing?”

 

* * *

 

A scream rang in Pidge’s ears.

One of the cloaked figures was chipping ice off her arm while her silent companion grabbed the blue caterpillar from off her back.

Gritting their teeth, Pidge picked themselves up from the ground and ran deeper into the forest, dodging trees, Rover and the last of the caterpillars barely able to keep up.

A bolt of lightning struck a tree just ahead of Pidge. A blue light erupted from it in ribbons that swallowed it whole, and in seconds, nothing was left but ash.

Distracted, Pidge tripped over their own feet and hit the ground hard.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, now...try lifting your arm.”

Matt’s voice was soft and full of more love than Pidge had heard in far, far too long.

It felt strange, standing in Matt and Shiro’s bedroom, watching them sit together at the edge of their bed. That strangeness was only multiplied by the knowledge that, whatever was happening to Pidge, they were being attacked just outside of it, unable to see or hear anything done to them.

“It’s...kind of heavy,” whispered Shiro.

“Well, yeah,” said Matt. “You haven’t had any weight there for a while now.”

Shiro raised his arm a few inches higher. “I have better control over it than I thought I would.”

“It should be just like moving your character in Altea,” said Matt. “Natural.”

He raised his hand to meet Shiro’s. They connected, palm-to-palm, fingertip-to-fingertip.

Nothing less than pure awe washed over Shiro’s face. It was breathtaking to watch, and just as heartbreaking. If anyone in the world loved Matt as much as Pidge had, it was surely Shiro.

“Everything…” breathed Shiro. “... _Everything_ comes naturally when it comes to you.”

He tilted his head closer, and Matt, bliss in every facet of his smile, leaned in and met Shiro’s forehead with his own.

“Cheesy,” he whispered.

Pidge closed their eyes and turned away.

They shouldn’t have been looking in the first place.

It was an intimate moment. A private one. No one in the world should have seen it but Shiro and Matt.

Why were the cloaked figures forcing Pidge to watch Matt’s memories?

Why?

And _how?!_

* * *

 

A metallic screech ripped through Pidge’s eardrums with all the rusty bite of a nail through aluminum.

Rover flew in front of the silent figure’s face, kicking and clawing with his many feet, green feathers flying.

The figure’s mask was knocked away.

They had no eyes.

The figure’s companion grabbed at Rover, and Pidge thrust the heel of their palm at her arm, knocking it away.

“Come on!” shouted Pidge, tugging Rover by the feet and yanking him out of the way of danger.

Pidge broke into a run, and another tree turned to ash, struck by the same black lightning.

Then another.

Then another.

Pidge risked a glance over their shoulder.

A bolt of black lightning shot right for them.

They didn’t have time to so much as gasp before their vision was obscured by a wall of forest green feathers.

_Rover!_

The lightning hit its mark. Rover made an odd, electric squawk, like the yip of an injured dog, and hit the dirt.

Like every tree before him, he was consumed by a vibrant, blue light, then turned to ash, and all Pidge could do was watch in horror as their companion since the beginning of their adventures in Altea ceased to be.

They lifted their gaze from the pile of ash.

The unmasked figure wrapped their hand around Pidge’s throat.

 

* * *

 

Honerva removed her headset and set it beside her on the arm of Matt’s couch, a pleasant smile on her face. She seemed sincerely happy, not like she had been the last time Pidge had seen her.

“You’ve finally done it, Shiro,” she said warmly. “You’ve designed the villain I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life playing.”

Shiro and Matt grinned at each other.

“All right!” exclaimed Matt. “That’s what I’m talking about! Up top, Shiro!”

Shiro laughed and acquiesced to Matt’s request.

“There, you see?” The man at Honerva’s side set a hand on her arm. “Didn’t I tell you they’d figure it out?”

“Don’t tell me you doubted us,” said Matt.

Shiro shook his head, still smiling. “We wouldn’t have let you down. Not after what you did for us.”

“Yes, well…” Honerva shrugged. “You’ve clearly put that arm to good use thus far, so my efforts have not been in vain.”

“I can’t say it’s not nice to be able to hold a tablet pen straight again,” said Shiro, raising his prosthetic.

Honerva opened her mouth to respond, but before she had the chance, that same electronic ringtone Pidge had heard before rang out.

Honerva reached into her pocket, pulled out a phone, and frowned at the caller ID.

“What is it?” asked the man to her right.

She mouthed something to him and sent Matt and Shiro an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. I really should take this.”

She stood from the couch, took the unnamed man’s hand, and pulled him into the hallway.

“Think it’s Lotor again?” asked Matt, his voice quiet, but strangely impossible not to hear.

Shiro shrugged. “It’s not our business if it is.”

“What?!” Honerva’s voice came like an explosion from the hallway. “That is not possible. Let me talk to him, Acxa.” She sounded frantic. Terrified. Angry. “Let me _talk_ to my _son._ This prank has gone far enough. Let me _talk_ to him, Acxa.” Pidge couldn’t help feeling her tone sounded familiar. “No, stop saying that. Did he tell you to say that? Is this some elaborate hoax to send me away? It won’t work. I’m not going anywhere until I get answers.”

“Honerva, what’s going—”

“ _Quiet,_ ” snapped Honerva. “Acxa, tell me what really happened.”

Shiro and Matt exchanged concerned expressions.

Pidge realized where they’d heard that frantic anger before.

“No. No, that’s a lie.”

It was from themselves. Their own, deeply visceral response.

“Tell me what really happened.”

The day their father died.

“Stop it.”

And…

“ _Stop it._ ”

The day Matt died.

“ _Stop it!_ ”

Honerva’s phone came hurtling through the air and crashed into the side of Matt’s cabinet, smashing into a million pieces on contact.

 

* * *

 

“Ugh, you creepy little things are _really_ starting to get on my nerves!”

The still-masked figure held the last of the caterpillars that had followed Pidge by a handful of its green hair.

“At least this is the last one, right?” she added to her companion. A sharpened pillar of ice shot up through the palm of her hand like a concealed dagger.

Pidge’s stomach flipped. “No!” They leaped forward and tackled the masked woman to the ground.

They wrested the green caterpillar from her grip and pulled it closer to their chest, curling around it on the ground, shielding it with their body.

Enough creatures had sacrificed themselves for Pidge that day.

“Aww, isn’t that cute?” crooned the masked figure, having already climbed back to her full height. “Look, Narti. He thinks it’s alive.”

Pidge lifted their head. “Why are you chasing me? Why are you showing me these things? Who _are_ you?!”

“Why does it matter?” sneered the masked woman. “You should be thanking us. We’re doing you a _favor._ Don’t you want to know how that lowlife you call a brother really did himself in?”

“Shut up!” snapped Pidge. “Don’t you _dare_ talk about my brother that way!”

“Well, that’s not really a _no,_ is it?” Pidge didn’t need to see the figure’s face to know exactly what her smirk looked like behind her mask. “Guess we’ll have to take that as a _yes._ ”

The woman stomped hard on Pidge’s back. Pidge didn’t dare buckle under the weight for fear of crushing the innocent creature in their arms.

“All right, Narti,” said the woman. “You heard him. Go ahead. Give him what he wants.”

_What I…? Oh, no…_

Pidge’s stomach felt like pure acid. They felt like— No, they were _sure_ they were going to be sick.

The hooded figures were going to force them to watch their brother _die._

To watch him _burn alive._

 _No… No, I_ can’t _—!_

A bright, brilliant green light, so bright it was almost white, wrapped around Pidge like a shield, pushing Narti away.

Pidge couldn’t hear a thing anymore. Not their attackers nor the crunch of twigs and dirt beneath them as they slowly, warily lifted themselves into a kneel. All was silent.

Confused, worried, Pidge looked to the caterpillar in their arms, just to make sure it was still safe.

And they understood where the light had come from.

It rippled off the creature in waves. Great, pulsing spheres of light that reached for the borders of their shield.

The way the caterpillars stared, Pidge hadn’t been sure they had eyelids at all. Not until the one in their arms serenely closed its eyes, and the same light it gave off began to consume it.

The light spread from the ends of the caterpillar’s legs and the tips of its fur all the way to its closed eyes until Pidge could no longer see anything but a blinding glow.

Then the glow faded, and all that was left was a flickering, emerald flame.

Pidge was entranced. They cradled the light in their hands, green fire licking at their fingertips, comfortably warm to the touch. It made Pidge feel like lying in the grass and watching the moon rise.

The flame drifted closer, as if drawn to Pidge’s heart, and pressed into Pidge’s chest, spreading that strange, mystical calm throughout Pidge’s entire being, coaxing their eyes to close.

And when they opened their eyes again, the bright light was gone, and Pidge saw the hooded figures no less than ten feet beneath them.

A series of thoughts flew swiftly through Pidge’s mind, each blocked out by the next.

_I’m flying._

_That’s ridiculous._

_No, it’s not. This is a video game. Matt made this world._

_Would Matt have put something like this in?_

_Absolutely._

_That means—_

Pidge looked over their shoulder.

They had wings.

Rapidly-beating, translucent, insect-like wings.

“The caterpil— _Ah!_ ”

A heavy hand wrapped around Pidge’s ankle and yanked them to the ground.

They hit the forest floor like a stone, and the still-masked figure loomed over them.

“Cute new mount,” said the figure. “But it’s all it’s going to do for you is annoy us, and you _don’t_ want to annoy us.”

Pidge kicked desperately at the hand still wrapped around their ankle. A familiar burst of green pulsed out from them, scorching the ends of the masked figure’s robes, evoking a pained cry, but doing little to loosen the grip the figure had on Pidge’s leg.

“Big mistake,” growled the figure, yanking Pidge closer and ignoring the surprised yelp that tore out of Pidge’s lungs. “You just made this a _lot_ harder on yourself. Narti!”

The other figure appeared from behind Pidge’s head and put a heavy, clawed foot on their chest.

Narti’s hands felt like ice on Pidge’s cheeks.

 

* * *

 

Pidge recognized the room at once, despite the dim lighting and the fact that it had been a long, long time since Pidge had seen it in the state it was in.

Their father’s books stacked on the dresser. His jacket draped over the edge of the bed. One of the candles he used to like perched on the nightstand.

Evidence of their father’s life was strewn evenly all throughout what Pidge had come to know as only their mother’s room.

Faded, cloudy light peeked in through the blinds, providing less light than the crack under the door leading to the restroom.

 _“Put the ice cream in the freezer this time,”_ said a muffled, warbling voice from beyond the open bedroom door. _“You know, before you get distracted and leave it on the counter to melt over everything we own again.”_

_“Don’t say that like you didn’t get just as excited as I did about our new hard drives coming in.”_

Pidge’s eyes widened.

That was their _own_ voice.

Younger, happier.

Before...everything happened.

_“You think dad’s asleep?”_

_“He shouldn’t be. Get his lazy butt up and have him help us. He’s the one always saying ‘many hands make light work’ and stuff like that.”_

Or...exactly when it happened.

An image flashed in the center of the bedroom, faded and ghostlike, for less than a second.

But not so quick that Pidge couldn’t recognize their own brother.

_“I think he’s sick or something. He’s been sleeping a lot lately. We should probably just leave him be.”_

The world shifted. The wall that separated the bedroom from the bathroom began leaning slowly inward, changing the shape of the room, making it feel constricting and intrusive.

_“Go get him. We can all be one big, whiny family. Besides, if he is sick, he should probably take something for it.”_

Pidge’s knees hit the floor. They couldn’t breathe.

Desaturated colors bled into one another like watercolor paint, the white wall stealing the polished wood from the dresser and replacing it with its own pale, the bedspread oozing onto the floor. Each hard line warped and trembled like an old cartoon.

Matt’s image reappeared in the center of the room, flickering weakly like the light of a candle in the wind.

_“All right, point made. I’ll go get him.”_

With every nearing footstep from the hall, the walls caved in further.

The footsteps halted, and Matt’s image in the center of the room began to jitter and flash all around the room, as if Matt’s memory was broken.

The room began to breathe, inhaling clarity and exhaling chaos. One second, every object in the room would be _too_ sharp, _too_ solid, and in the next, there would be nothing but dreamy confusion.

But when the world was clear, Pidge could see Matt, too solid, oversaturated, walking, too slow, toward the bathroom door.

And Pidge knew what was on the other side.

“ _Matt…_ ”

Pidge’s voice came out as a pleading croak, breathless, voiceless.

They stretched a hand toward Matt’s flickering form, groping through the air, desperate to somehow change the past, to stop Matt from seeing what he had seen, to avoid seeing it themselves.

Matt had tried so hard to keep Pidge from seeing it back then.

He’d held them so desperately that day, no matter how much Pidge cried, no matter how hard they fought, no matter how loud they called out for their father, he wouldn’t let them be traumatized the way he had been.

That couldn’t all be undone more than a year later just because Pidge had upset the wrong person in a video game.

It couldn’t.

“ _P… Please…_ ”

Matt’s hand wrapped around the door handle.

 

* * *

 

_CRACK_

_THWACK_

Pidge shot upright, gasping for air.

Something saved them.

The only companion they had left had become a part of them. It didn’t seem possible that anyone had saved them.

And yet, someone had.

A third cloaked figure stood only feet away, brandishing a long staff, pointing it at the first two figures, who were both flat on their backs.

The figure who had just joined the battle was different from the first two. Their cloak was more humble. Shorter, brown, with more freedom to move its wearer’s arms and legs. Not at all like the majestic, flowing robes of the others.

Like the first two had, the third figure wore a mask, but their mask was different. Not at all like the curved, intimidating, birdlike mask the previous figures had worn, but gray, with a single, glowing eye in the center.

All around the figure’s feet, in a two-meter radius, the earth sparked and flared, as if the third figure’s presence was quite literally electric.

And where the sparks were most active, tiny, green sprouts emerged from the singed earth.

The brown-cloaked figure twirled the staff in their hands like a warning and backed slowly toward Pidge, arcs of electricity dancing across their back and shoulders.

They inclined their head just barely toward Pidge, as if afraid to take their eyes off the other cloaked figures, but still wanting to look.

And it hit Pidge, slowly, that this third figure was undeniably on their side.

They climbed to their feet, wings twitching behind their head of their own accord. It seemed the green creature that had bonded with Pidge was just as ready to fight as they were.

“Thanks for the help,” said Pidge, closing their hands into fists. They’d lost their weapon, but they could still throw a punch.

The brown-cloaked figure nodded firmly and kept his eyes trained on the two others, who were slowly climbing to their feet.

“We knew you’d show up eventually,” said the still-masked woman. “If anything could convince you to crawl out of hiding, it was bound to be this, right? We just didn’t expect you to hit quite so hard.”

The other figure crouched low to the ground, a long, lizard-like tail peeking out from under the hem of their robes.

“Oh, I know!” chirped the woman. “Let’s play a game! How long can you protect an unarmed, underleveled little thief all by yourself?”

The brown-cloaked figure roared furiously, their—his?—voice distorted by his mask, and he charged forward, whirling his staff like a cyclone, sending a spread of neon green bolts of lightning firing all around him.

The masked woman leapt into the air, and the brown-garbed man struck her down in an instant, throwing her into a tree. Doing so cleared a path for the eyeless figure to rush past, but the masked man appeared in front of Pidge in a blink and threw up a wall of entangled vines, shielding them from harm.

“ _Hide,_ ” said the man through his mask’s distortion.

“But—”

“ _Hide!_ ” ordered the man again.

Pidge set their jaw and turned themselves invisible. Their wings took them into the air, giving them a vantage point out of harm’s way.

With Pidge safe, the man lowered his wall of vines and poured all of his focus into the fight.

He was like a force of nature between the swift jabs and swings of his staff, the lightning and vines he conducted, and the blinking he used to maneuver around the forest to dodge the other figures’ attacks.

Pidge had no idea what his class was, but it was no surprise to Pidge that Matt’s game would include such a class. Every time Matt started a new game with Pidge, he always struggled to choose between a magical class or a rogue class. Apparently, he’d decided to invent a middle-ground.

A bizarre, fantastical thought wandered into Pidge’s mind, and they quickly shook it away.

It was impossible, and Pidge was only going to hurt themselves by thinking it.

But...why was a stranger so keen on helping them? Why was he hooded and masked when the other two already seemed to know who he was? He was the same height, the same build, clearly human—

_Stop it. This is just...wishful thinking. That’s all this is._

One of the black-robed figures rose into the air and sent the same black lightning from before toward the masked man, and Pidge’s heart leapt into their throat, but the masked man was as clever as he was quick.

He swept the legs of the other figure and tossed them into the air with his staff.

The eyeless figure caught the lightning intended for the masked man, and just like every tree before them, just like Rover, they were consumed by blue light, and when the light faded, they were reduced to ash.

“Narti!” gasped the masked woman. “ _You!_ ”

She raised her hands and called another bolt of lightning.

Pidge felt themselves moving before they realized they could, as if their wings knew what they were thinking before they did, as if there was another consciousness sharing their mind that had put together their subconscious thoughts before Pidge themselves did.

They rushed the back of the masked woman and wrapped their arms around her hooded neck, putting them into a chokehold.

The black lightning vanished, its caster too distracted by trying to pry Pidge’s arms free.

“Don’t you hurt him!” snapped Pidge, the volume of their voice dispelling their invisibility.

They knew the masked man wasn’t who they wanted him to be.

“If you touch him—!”

They knew it wasn’t possible. That he was gone. Dead. Buried under a star pine in Atlas Park.

“ _Pidge, don’t!_ ”

But once the idea had entered Pidge’s mind, they couldn’t shake the idea, the picture in their head of Matt Holt’s face behind that mask.

The woman’s mask clattered to the ground and she threw Pidge back, against a tree.

Pidge choked, the wind knocked out of them, and slid slowly to the ground, the wings at their back slowing their descent.

The woman still floated above Pidge’s head, her pink face sneering, and she charged down, robes flapping behind her, hands curved into sparking claws.

A voice called for them in the back of their mind.

Pidge threw up their hands. A tangle of thick vines shot out of the ground and snatched the woman out of the air. In the same instant, a bolt of green lightning struck her and coursed through the tangled vines. She screamed, and her entire body went rigid.

She was paralyzed.

Pidge’s eyes widened. The vines had been them—or, rather, Green, who was still bonded to them—but the lightning…

The masked man cut between Pidge and the pink-faced woman, his staff held firmly in his hands.

At first, all the man did was stare at the woman, his grip tightening on the staff.

Then, he spoke.

“ _I knew it wasn’t just the earthquake,_ ” said the man. “ _Those servers were locked. Every shelf. An earthquake wouldn’t have made that kind of a mess. Not unless someone else tampered with it._ ”

Pidge knitted their brow and pushed themselves to their feet, leaning against the tree behind them. Their health was low, almost completely depleted, but it wasn’t out, not yet, and that needed to know what was happening.

The pink-faced woman glared at Pidge from over the masked man’s shoulder. “What are _you_ looking at?”

The man grabbed the woman by the front of her robes. “ _Talk to_ me, _Ezor, not them! What did you take from the server room?!_ ”

Ezor sneered, and the yellow marking in the middle of her face wrinkled with the upturn of her nose. “We didn’t take _anything._ You’re the one who took from _us._ ”

“ _It_ wasn’t _my_ fault,” said the man.

Pidge raised their eyebrows. He sounded frustrated, angry, but...just as sad.

“ _I wouldn’t have— What happened was tragic, but I had nothing to do with it._ ” The masked man let go of Ezor’s robes. “ _Whatever Honerva told you, it was a lie._ ”

“A lie,” growled Ezor. “Yeah. Sure. Okay. And I guess Emperor Zarkon’s lying, too.”

“ _Don’t call him that,_ ” said the masked man half-heartedly.

“You know,” said Ezor, “he said it’s like waking up from a dream. Like Altea’s the real world and anything that happened outside of it was just the consequence of eating too much pizza before bed. What do you think? Was it like that for you, too?”

The man said nothing.

He just gripped his staff.

Ezor narrowed her eyes, then closed them.

Black sparks danced across her body. Her eyes glowed briefly blue, then the same ribbons of light erupted yet again, enveloping her and the vines she was tangled in.

The masked man threw out an arm and pushed Pidge back, pulling them away from the tree they were all but pinned against and leading them behind it, where it was safer.

The light faded, and all that was left of Ezor, like Narti, like Rover, was ash.

The masked man cursed quietly and lowered his arm.

Pidge frowned at the dirt. Something… Something was bothering them. But they couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was.

Then, like a bolt of that same black lightning, it hit them, and they swore their insides turned to ash.

“How...did you know what the server room looked like after the earthquake?”

The masked man looked over his shoulder.

“No one went in there except me, Hunk, and Shiro,” mused Pidge. “And Hunk’s stuck in Balmera, and Shiro hasn’t been talking to anyone unless he absolutely has to, and the only person I can see him telling about the state of the server room after the earthquake would be—”

The masked man took off at a sprint.

Pidge swore they must have been thrown into another tree. The wind was knocked out of them in the exact same way.

_That’s not possible._

Possible or not, Pidge wasn’t going to let the man get away.

They ran.

“Wait!”

The man’s brown cloak camouflaged almost too well among the trees he wove between. Pidge was afraid that if they took their eyes off him for a second, he’d disappear forever and they’d never see him again.

They had to see his face.

They had to know.

But the space between Pidge and the cloaked man was widening.

_I can’t let him go! I can’t!_

A warm feeling crept into Pidge’s mind, and they felt their feet lift off the ground.

Green was so much faster than they were.

Pidge tore between trees, catching up easily, the distance between themselves and the man’s back dwindling shorter and shorter until—

_WHUMP_

Pidge and the masked man went clumsily down. Elbows were scraped, twigs got in hair, but Pidge was no less determined. They worked their fingers under the mask despite the man’s protests, ripped it off, and…

Everything went silent.

The wind no longer blew. Leaves no longer rustled. No breath came from Pidge nor the man they landed on.

“...Pidge,” whispered the man. “I’m not... I’m just AI, a bunch of ones and zeroes—”

“ _I don’t care what you’re made of!_ ” Pidge slammed the side of their fist against the ground and threw the mask as far as they could. “You’re my _brother,_ Matt! Nothing in the world could ever change that! Not even—”

A whirlwind of emotions, of shock and relief and unresolved despair and anger at having such a huge secret kept from them for so long and lingering denial because it still seemed so very _impossible,_ Pidge buried their face in the front of Matt’s cloak and screamed, loud enough to shake the trees.

Matt’s arms slid around their back and cradled the back of their head, holding them close.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m so, so sorry.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We are already too late. We are on a path that is guaranteed to kill at least two people by winter. People who should have led longer lives. And on top of that, the dead will walk the earth. _Birds will drop out of the sky._ Tragedies of the past may even repeat themselves. And don't get me started on your love life."


End file.
